


These Flightless Wings

by MurderInCrimson



Series: That Butler, Dreaming of Fairy Tales [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Beauty and the Beast, F/M, Fairy tale retelling, Female Pronouns for Grell Sutcliff, Gen, M/M, Multi, fairytale retelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:53:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 27,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28924650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurderInCrimson/pseuds/MurderInCrimson
Summary: A wretched Beast haunts the forest beyond the Kingdom.A Beauty with a vicious streak seeks to become more than she has been handed in life.A handsome Knight looks to find his place in the world.A Beauty and the Beast retelling from multiple perspectives.
Relationships: Ronald Knox/Othello/Grell Sutcliff, Sebastian Michaelis/Grell Sutcliff, Sebastian Michaelis/William T. Spears, William t Spears & Grell Sutcliff as siblings
Series: That Butler, Dreaming of Fairy Tales [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2126970
Comments: 14
Kudos: 14





	1. Prologue: The Beast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NadoHunter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NadoHunter/gifts).



> A/N: Greetings. This little plot bunny of a fan fiction appeared in my mind after reading NadoHunter's Snow King AU with Sebastian and William. I am not sorry.

“You will obey me,” he said, lips parted just enough to allow the words to exit his mouth. His eyes shone brightly in the dim light; waves of purple, blue, and red flittered upon the walls. “You will become my Beast, young Prince. For your crimes, for your hate and your darkness--for your work against me--you shall become the monster I know you to be.” 

My hands shook. I reached through the bars of the gilded cage. “Please,” I whispered, my throat tightening around my voice. “Sire, forgive me for my follies--” 

“Sebastian,” the boy said. Ah, that was my first mistake. He was no boy, no child--no. This small creature was power incarnate, a devil and a demon in the guise of a sheep. I was vain enough to think I could control him. I was stupid enough to think me strong enough to control his powers, to wield him as a sword, as a shield. 

Now my time was up. The hourglass was empty of sand, the granules of my life scattered to the wind. I had wasted my gifts from this creature on frivials parties, on beautiful women and men, on wine and drink and oh--

“You are to be my Beast--and no one will ever love a Beast such as you. For your crimes, for your wastefulness, you will twist until your face, your body, becomes something so wretch that no other human may ever love you.” 

“Please!” I screamed now, but it was not my voice. It was a howl, a cry in the night from a monster, an animal. Around me, trapping me further, my body transformed. My bones broke and reformed beneath my skin as inky black feathers covered my flesh. A pain so powerful, so raw and retched that I could not breathe, filled my entire being until I knew nothing but the glow of the witch’s eyes.

He smiled. “That is an order, Sebastian. May the admittance of love set you free--if it comes within the next one hundred years. Otherwise, you will lose your mind, and your body will be mine. My pet.” 

Then he was gone, my humanity with him, in a swirling flash of purple, of blue, of black, black, black, forever black. 


	2. The Knight--Green Eyes So Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which William contemplates existing, Grelle is angry, and the whispers of a quest blow through the wind.

The summer sun had set for the last time this season. Autumn was fast approaching, and with it, the rise of a new king. A man I would serve until my death, as my father had, and my mother, and their families before them. I knew nothing of him, other than he was considered kind for royalty, which could have meant any manner of things. Many of those in the royal house were cruel things, more worried with how their hair looked or the latest fashions of the court.

Honestly.

While these thoughts drifted through my head, the brush behind me shifted. I could feel her before she popped up through the bushes; she had a sort of aura around her that I could not explain. Many people did, but hers was almost painful in how red it was. Just as I was about to turn to greet her, I found a basket thrust into my face. 

“William!” she said, tone both playful and condescending. “You didn’t come to supper. How do you expect to serve the new King if you’ve become as weak as a kitten?” 

Grunting, I pulled the basket--heavy, I noted--into my lap. The red head followed, giggling as she leaned against me and dug into the basket to help herself to a plump apple. “I take it you spent more time gathering my dinner than actually finding yourself a meal.” It was not a question; there was a sort of comfort in how Grelle mothered me, despite me being her senior by two summers. 

“M-m-m,” she hummed as she looked out over the blue hues of the evening sky. “Someone has to take care of you, if you’re far too stupid to do it for yourself.” 

“I will keep that in mind the next time someone bests you at swords practice.” I hid a smirk as she released a high pitched growl right next to my ear. Her weight against my shoulder is a welcome comfort. 

I did not have much time left, after all. Within the next few weeks, I would be officially taken as the new King’s personal guard. My time with the knights would be over; I would serve the Lord of this land and him alone. Worse yet, Grelle was to be stationed in a completely different part of the kingdom, as she had been handpicked to serve the Duchess and her family. It was a safer job, and one where she would be allowed to be herself. I should have been happy for her. 

Yet when I watched her at practice, I could see her shoulders slump. I could see her cast glances at me, pain in the green eyes we shared. 

I was the good son. I was the one that had been bred for this job. My mother and father were wed--I was baptized, and I had a title. 

Grelle had to fight for her place in the knighthood, the bastard daughter of a man who could not hold himself to the vows of marriage. It made her hard in a way I did not like. It made her ruthless, and petty on occasion. It made her darker than the lovely red she should have been. It dulled her colors. 

I listened to my half sister bite into her apple, the warmth of her against my shoulder, and I sighed. 

We sat like that for a time as the darkness pooled over the valley. The castle of the King was aflame in the distance with expensive lighting; some said it was magic. Surely no natural candle could burn for that long; days if left alone. They glowed, oddly, pure white. There was no yellow or red to them, as a natural candle would produce. No. They were the color of the sun as it beat down upon the crops of corn and wheat our kingdom was known for. Some of them even looked to float, following those within the stone building as they walked the massive corridors. 

The valley led off into mountains, both taller than tall, with peaks that disappeared into the heavens. There were forests, too, of course, breaking through the worst of the mountains to produce passages to the world beyond. A lake glimmered behind the castle, catching the lights of the moon and stars above, with a thin river snaking around the building and into the town at the base of the King’s home. 

This was home.

I closed my eyes, drawing a breath. Grelle’s aura beside me had dimmed some; I could hear her gentle snores as her body grew heavier against me. When I looked at her, her lips were parted, just so, and her long, red hair tousled. I drew her into my lap, as I had when we were children, and let her dream. 

She deserved so much more than this life. She deserved more than what she had been born into--and as. I ran my finger down the side of her shoulder, and she shied away in her sleep. I was the only one that could touch her like this--to hold her when she allowed herself to be weak. If anyone attempted to, she would quickly draw her sword, or dagger, or whatever she had on her at the time. 

I recalled a moment when she had stabbed one of the other knights in training, a poor lad named Ronald, with a fork because he had dared to touch her arm. 

A bird flew overhead. I heard it, the flutter of the feathers, but I could not see it. Even its aura was muted. Muted? No. I blinked up into the night sky, realizing that the aura was just as black as night, and darker still. A raven, or maybe a crow. 

“You’re frowning,” Grelle mumbled. She looked up at me from my lap as she yawned. 

“Thinking,” I mumbled back.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t look so sullen when you do. You’ll gather wrinkles quickly that way, and then how on Earth will you find a wife? Hmm?” She giggled, tone teasing and easy. When she wiggled in my lap, she giggled again, finally sitting up straight beside me. “Or a h-u-s-b-a-n-d?” 

I choked. “Grelle--” 

She put her head on my shoulder. “Would you like to go for a walk? I’ve heard of a beast in the wood; probably some sort of wild dog or something like that. It might be fun to hunt it out. It would certainly please your new King to know that his personal guard is so strong and thoughtful.” 

“Your King, too,” I pointed out as we stood. I arched an eyebrow, looking down at her as she dusted herself off. She said nothing, but started to gather up the remnants of the basket she had brought me. My hand reached out before I could think, taking her arm. “Your King, too, Grelle.” 

When she turned, I had one second to stop her from stabbing me through the stomach with a knife she had pulled from only Lord knew where. “He is not my King,” she snapped. “I’ve been turned away, remember? I am to serve the Duchess, in the country, and watch as that bitch raises a family that I can never have for myself.” Her eyes were dark, angry; her aura had never been so twisted up in shadow. 

“Grelle--” 

“I will go hunt the beast myself, then,” she said slowly, each word clipped. “I need to kill something.” 

Before I could say a word, she stomped off, dropping the basket to the ground. I stood there, stupid, watching the apples roll away from me as she disappeared. 


	3. The Beauty--To Kill a Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Beauty, angry, dives headfirst into the forest--only to become lost.

My horse shied away from the forest. The trees sprawled out before me, splitting only for the well-worn path from our city into the mountains. It would eventually lead off to a small town, and from there, split into other roads into the kingdom proper. One of those roads led to the home of the Duchess, Angelina, the Lady of Crimson, Madame Red. My future--and my personal Hell. 

Of course, I had met her before. She was a lovely woman, sweet and kind, and one of the few women to have become a doctor that I was aware of within our stupid little country. Like me, she had flaming red hair. She was gorgeous. The few times we had met, we got along well enough. 

I could go there, to her. I could run away from William, left on that hill, and go forward into the arms of my fate. I would serve her, protect her, and smile at all of the pain of watching her live a life I could not. Once, I thought perhaps we could be kin. She could not conceive after a terrible accident. 

Then there was that damnable magic, the miracle of a cure, the blessing she received. 

Tsking, I turned away from that path. No. Best to not hasten my fate. Tonight, I would hunt a beast. I would get my fill of blood. I would kill, and help the damned Kingdom be safe for one night more. 

“Come on.” I urged my horse forward. She flinched a bit, so I dug my heels in perhaps too much. She offered me a whinnying grunt in return. “Come on!” I forced her forward, then, and she was off at a gallop. 

Deep. 

Deeper. 

And even more so. 

We traveled for hours, the horse and I feeling as one. I did not tire, I did not ache. I had been riding horses since I was a child. Since my father took me from my mother proper, declaring me enough of his child to be worthy of being allowed into the knighthood. Since I met my half brother. Since, since, since. 

Bloody hell, it took me a moment to realize I was crying. 

My horse burst through the thickly growing trees. I halted her, glancing around as my tears dried on my cheeks. “Where--” I mumbled, frowning. I bit my bottom lip until it bled. “Carmine--” 

My horse bucked, and I was not prepared for it. I found myself on my ass rather quickly, landing sideways on my ankle. Pain blossomed, roses of tender red, and flared behind my eyes. Broken. My ankle was broken. 

Fuck. 

I managed to pull myself to my feet, using the length of my sword as a cane. Poor thing; it was not made for such a thing. Even though it was sheathed, I had the fear that the blade would dull. Then where would I be--an idiot woman, ankle broken, trapped in the middle of the forest with nothing to protect her but a sword with a dull tip? 

“Carmine!” I shouted into the air, hating how deep my voice sounded. “Get back here--” 

Silence. 

“Oh, you’ve done it this time, Grelle, haven’t you. Bleeding Hells, William is going to kill me if I manage to make it out of here.” There was a sort of calming effect as I spoke to myself; I felt less alone. 

Step by agonizing step, I made my way forward. Backward? I really could not tell. The sun was beginning to rise, but the direction seemed wrong. Was that east? West? No, that wasn’t right. The moon hung in the sky too, too close to the damned rays of light. The sky was wrong. Everything was wrong. 

Wrong.

Like me.

“Get it together,” I hissed at myself. Finding a log, I took a seat to assess my injury. I nearly screamed when I pulled away my leggings and boots. Blood, mostly dried now, clung to my clothing. A shard of bone jutted out from my broken flesh, sharp and tainted pink from my blood. 

Why had I not paid more attention during my lessons of field medicine? 

As gingerly as I could, I tried to set the bone. Watching it slip back through my skin gave me more than a bit of pause--what little apple I had eaten later soon found itself pooled on the ground in a heap, stinking of my stomach acid. 

I was going to die.

It was then that I heard a familiar whinny. Then a scream, unlike anything else I had ever heard in my life. It forced me to my feet--and the pain brought me low once more. Flares of pain blossomed behind my eyes, dreadfully beautiful flowers dripping crimson regret. 

Shaking, I threw up again, though there was no apple left. Just stomach cramps and acid. My eyes would not work. Darkness was pulling in around me, digging deeply into me like thorns. 

The beast, then. It would eat me, and end my little story. Isn’t that what was happening? Wasn’t that damned beast approaching, having killed my horse, drawn to my blood, drawn to my pain--

I drew my sword, teeth bared, even as I spun into the darkness of unconsciousness. 

I would fight to my last breath. 

As the darkness swirled up around me, as feathers the color of night blew along the wind, as a demon with flightless wings approached me, eyes glowing a gorgeous red, I thrust myself forward, blade first. 

The Beast laughed, knocking my attack off to the side. 

And I knew nothing more.


	4. The Knight--Auras

The auras of those who lived in the barracks swam behind my eyelids. Sleep would not come to me that night. Sleep, for me at least, was rare. It was a ‘gift,’ I was told, from my grandmother--my mother’s mother. She had been gifted in a similar way; the ability to see the souls of those around her. 

It had driven her mad, in the end, and off of a cliff onto the spiky rocks below. 

This night, however, I was glad for my little curse. I knew all of the auras well, mostly by their color. Green for Ronald, the young knight Grelle had stabbed with a fork (and later shared a kiss with that she pretended I knew nothing about); a slightly deeper, almost black green for Othello, one of the men who was a knight in name only (he was a genius when it came to sniffing out injuries, however, and thus acted as our field doctor during battle or journeys); blue for another, pink, yellow, and so forth. 

But that night, there was no red.

I stayed up for Grelle as long as I could. Struggling and twitching in bed, I finally gave up. I sat up, pulling off my blankets. As a member of the Spears family, I was allotted my own chambers. My bed was neat and well kept; I had a quilt my mother had made in my youth before sending me off to the knighthood and one lone pillow. I kept nothing extravagant. There was no need to. 

Beyond the small room was the main portion of the barracks. Beds and cots were set up in two, larger rooms with the dining hall attached to the end. One side of the build was for the women; most of them were nurses, but there were a few female knights that the old King had allowed to serve. Grelle was one of these, even though she and I had to fight for her bed. 

She deserved to feel safe.

The other side was for the men. My door opened into this room. I sneaked out, as quiet as I could be. Two men sat at the other end of the long room, guarding the others via candlelight. I did not need to see them to know their colors; bright green and a darker green. Ronald and Othello were facing each other, speaking in hushed tones. 

“Gentlemen,” I hummed, sitting with them. 

Ronald jumped before relaxing. “Oh, Spears, sir! You got me. You are silent, always.” He chuckled lightly and rubbed the back of his head. “I thought you would have gotten some sleep tonight, at least.” 

“Did you need some tea?” Othello asked. He adjusted his glasses, peering over them at me with a knowing glance. “I think I’ve come upon a stronger brew. It might help.”

“Not tonight, thank you,” I said. Neatly, tightly. Quick. “Someone is missing tonight.” 

The two looked at each other before looking back to me. Ronald shrugged, leaning back in his chair until it looked like he was going to fall to the floor. The man had amazing balance, though; I sometimes swore he was a cat or of the like. His blond hair darkened at the nape of his neck to black, and as though noting that I was looking, he ran a hand through the locks. 

“Oh, Grelle?” Othello asked. He took a sip of his drink. “I haven’t seen her.” 

“Nor I, not for a bit.” Ronald rubbed at his hand. Even though he wore gloves now, I could practically see the angry scar along his knuckles. The thought of how viscous my half sister could be made my lip twitch. Maybe I was attempting a smile. I wasn’t sure, honestly. 

“Have either of you heard of a beast in the wood?” I asked.

To this, Ronald rocked forward in his chair. He sat upright, looking at me with wide eyes. “Oh, yeah! I’ve heard of it! Big, black thing, all full of feathers. I’ve heard it has horns, too, and eyes as red as flame.” He grinned. “Plenty of the maidens would be taken if someone slayed it, I’m sure.” 

His grin faded when I glared at him. He pouted, pulling out a book from his pocket. With a flick of his hand, he pulled over the candle to offer me light as he shone the flame upon a crude sketch. “Something like this, from what I’ve gathered. The Captain’s thought of sending some of us out to hunt it down, but since no one has really been able to get a perfect look at it--well. It might be dangerous.” 

I took the sketch from him, peering down at. Smudged and fingerprinted with charcoal, it was hard to make out at first. Then, slowly, my eyes shifted. A deep aura pooled out from the image. Deep? No. That was wrong. It was all lights, shining and glorious, in hues of violets, pinks, reds, oranges...the entire spectrum. It made my breath catch in my throat. 

For a moment, I could not breathe.

Othello slammed the butt of his palm between my shoulders. It forced me to choke out the air trapped in my lungs. I pulled a fresh mouthful in, dipping my head to him in thanks. 

“Vision, sir?” 

“Of sorts.” The aura lights faded once more, leaving just the sketch before me. Yes. A monster, standing upright, like a man. It had massive wings, but they looked to be broken. Bones--I think they were bones--jutted out from the mangled things, as well as from the head of the creature. No, wait. Those were horns, like a devil, but there were three. 

And those eyes. 

Even then, staring down at the black-and-white image, I could see the burning, red glow of those eyes. Anger. Hatred. Hunger. 

Yet--

\--sorrow. This creature was in pain. I could feel it, coursing through me. The pain of existing with such a broken form, but also the horrible understanding that the monster, the Beast, had once been something more. He--he!--had been someone, once. A human. 

“Should I hit him again?” 

“I don’t know--he looks about to faint--”

Whack! I choked up air again as Othello drew his hand back. I shook my head. Coughing to clear my lungs, I looked between the two men. “I believe Grelle went after this Beast--and I am seeing something more to it than we know.” I stood. “I have to go. She might be in danger.”

“If that Beast isn’t in danger itself,” Ronald mumbled as I returned to my private quarters to fetch my clothing, my armor, and my lance. I decided to ignore him as I dressed. When I turned to leave, I found Othello in my door, studying me. His aura pulsed with thought. “Yes, Othello?” 

He shrugged, pulling back to allow me by. “Be careful, Spears. Not everything is as it seems.” 

Cryptic, but I ignored it. I offered him a salute, then quickly moved to the stables to find a suitable horse. 

Pale light echoed in rays of orange and yellow across the mountains. Daylight had come, and the scent of blood was upon the wind. As my horse carried me through the forest, I focused. Red. Find red. Any flash of it, any hint--I need it. I needed to find Grelle before that monster did. 

She needed to be safe. 


	5. The Beast--To Look Upon A Rose

What a feisty creature. 

It was simple to knock her weapon from her hand, as weak as she was. Still, there was a fire in her, upon her, to match the color of her hair. When she stumbled forward, I found myself moving to catch her. It was rare for someone to wander into my forest these days. The magic binding me there made certain that my one hope--the ability to find something as trivial as love--had as little chance as possible. 

The Witch was certainly a cruel thing, all wrapped up in a tidy, tiny package.

The woman was still in my arms. I could smell the sweet tang of her blood. Injured. Yes. Dying, perhaps. She was weaker than she knew, skin as pale as snow. It stood out against the harsh crimson of her hair, of her lips. She was a beauty, to be certain. 

Nothing in my heart stirred. 

Whether I wanted to or not, I knew that I should return to my roost. My home. If I left this blazing rose here, she would wilt, and die. 

And perhaps I would lose another part of my humanity. 

With a grunt, I hoisted her into my arms. The hush of my broken wings fell across the ground, and I moved, silently, to the withered castle in the distance. 

These woods were mine. They would be mine, until I lost the last of my mind. They knew me, and shifted to make my trek shorter. Even as my talons dug into the soft earth, I found purchase of cobblestones long since covered with mosses and ivy. There was snow here, now; it was winter within my realm, always. 

Thick, black wood doors flew open. Shapes materialized in the doorway, eyes glimmering and shining like my own. “Mister Sebastian!” a voice squawked out. “You’ve returned, you have!” 

“And with a guest, no less,” another voice gasped. “Ah! She’s so pretty!” 

“Calm down, you two. Mey-Rin, maybe go make sure the lady has a room. Finny, you want to get her some water? I’ll start something for dinner--” 

“Enough.” My voice drew silence from the three. They looked at me, eyes huge and shining with the curse that had spread to them as well. Once, each of them had been human. Mortal. Now, they were like me. The castle did that to people--the more sorrow they felt, the more anger and negative emotion, the more twisted their bodies became. 

My curse, but it had moved onto those who had come into my realm. 

I looked down upon the red rose Beauty in my arms, and wondered, curiously, what sort of Beast she would become. 

“What would you have us do, then, Mister Sebastian?” Mey-Rin, again. She had been unfortunately enough to attempt to kill me, years ago, before falling into my service. Her changes suited her well enough; long, grey feathers fell from her back and talons graced her fingers. With wide, yellowed eyes and a dusting of feathers across her cheeks and brow, she looked very much like an owl. It was a pity that her sight had faded with her change; the massive glasses upon her nose aided her to see. 

I thought, once, that maybe I could love her. All of them, honestly--I thought that, perhaps, they would be my saving grace. Yet there was no love between them and I--no love at all. Just servitude, now, and understanding. We were in this, together, monsters floating in the vast expanse of time. 

One hundred years. 

Only a handful left, now, until the Phantomhive witch took us, all of us, as his pets. Until we lost our minds. 

Until I truly became the demon he wanted me to be. 

Perhaps the one I had always been. 

“Take her to the guest room,” I ordered, passing her off to Bardroy. Ah, Bard. He worked now, as my chef (though honestly, I preferred the taste of fresh flesh to the burnt offerings he managed), though at once he had been my own personal guard. Like the others, like myself, he had been tainted by my curse. Coarse fur bristled along his arms, along his broad chest, along his chin and throat. I think he was supposed to be some sort of fox, maybe a small wolf, though a dog might be just as appropriate. His ears perked up on his head as he listened to me, hand rolled cigarette hanging from the corner of his lip. “Make her comfortable. Mey-Rin, remain with her. She will need fresh clothing, as well as aid with her ankle. It is badly broken.” 

The two snapped to attention, saluting me with yelps before darting off. That left Finnian, my gardener, who tried so valiantly to bring life to the courtyard and lawns of my estate. I put my taloned hand upon his head, watching his antenne wiggle as he grinned up at me. “Get Snake, when you can; I would like him to use his talents to watch over our new guest.” 

“Aye, aye!” he laughed, eyes wide as he darted off. My little ant; he was small and mighty. If I needed strength, if my own failed, I knew he could and would lift a mountain for me. 

Ruined, all of them. 

Because of me. 

I entered my domain, my roost, following silently after my servants. Darkness followed me, as always; any candle that had been lit was instantly doused as I passed. The flames would spring back to life once I had gone. I was a living shadow, a darkness and black hole that swallowed any light, any happiness that I came in contact with.

I would be lying if I said I had not grown to like it. It suited me, that pain of knowing I no longer belonged to the light, to the sun. I was no longer Prince Sebastian Michaelis. I was a shadow of that man, a monster in the form of a broken raven. A Beast, through and through. 

Had someone told me I still had a heart, I would have laughed at them. 

There was no such thing as hope. 


	6. The Beauty--Monsters

Someone was touching me. 

I awoke with a shout, kicking and lashing out at whomever had the audacity to touch me. Pain flared behind my eyes, bringing the harsh memory of my broken ankle to the forefront of my brain. My angry shouts turned to a shriek. 

A bed. I was on a rather comfortable bed. Something better than the cot I was allowed at the knight barracks. The cool whisper of night air caressed my skin--and I realized I was nude. Someone was there, in the room with me, eyes wide behind a pair of glasses. Yellow eyes, huge. 

“What are you staring at?!” I shrieked. “Why were you touching me? Who--” I froze, choking on my outcry and biting back a mouthful of curses. The woman ruffled her feathers. Feathers. The woman had feathers, like an owl, to match her wide eyes. 

My tongue fell silent in my mouth as she approached me again, showing her clawed hands as though to prove that she had no weapon on her. “Pl-please, ma’am. Uh. Sir?” She frowned deeply, looking worriedly at me. “My name is Mey-Rin, it is. Mister Sebastian asked me to tend to you.” 

“You’re a bird,” I said, stupidly. It was taking far too long for my muddled mind to catch up with whatever was happening. “This--this is a dream, right? William will wake me up soon. Yes, that’s it; I’ve just overslept on our hill, and he’ll get me up soon.” I scooted back on the bed, still staring at the owl-woman. Mey-Rin? I rolled the name around in my head for a moment. 

Wait. 

“Mey-Rin, Lady Archer of the Eastern King?” 

She perked up, feathers puffing up in an admittedly adorable fashion. Grinning, she dipped her head. “Oh, yes, that was me! I haven’t heard that title in a dog’s year, no I haven’t.” As though to prove it, she pulled up the split in her skirt lengths and showed me a small crossbow attached to her thigh. “Haven’t had much to shoot these days, though.” 

I had heard of her, of course--every female knight had. She was the markswoman that had nearly brought another kingdom to its knees by herself, years ago, prior to our own King taking over the country. At least sixty or more, if my memory served from my lessons. Yet, there she stood, half owl, looking no older than I. Grinning at me. 

“H...how?” I asked as I pulled myself up to sit on the bed properly. I pulled one of the soft blankets over myself, offering up some modesty. My ankle ached still, and the scent of my blood was strong in the air. I ignored it, for now. “It was said that you disappeared when you went to hunt a Beast--” 

I froze. The darkness flooded me again--a monster. A demon, a Beast, with feathers as black as tar. It was massive, with painfully beautiful eyes and wings so broken and gnarled that I had to wonder if it ever knew how to fly. My horse--the thing had killed my horse, then come for me, a spattering of crimson upon its lips. 

Shivering, I pulled the blankets closer. 

Mey-Rin sighed. She took a few steps closer to me, then a few more, before sitting carefully at the foot of the bed. “Give me your ankle, miss, and I will tell you.” She was surprisingly careful with me as she took my leg into her lap. The down of her feathered hands and arms was warm, tender. “You do prefer miss, you do?” 

“I do,” I half snapped, half growled. She looked at me with a frown. “I would thank you to remember that.” 

She clucked softly. “This is a bad break, this is. The bone is shattered, right through your skin. It will take a while to heal.” As she spoke, she worked over my injury, causing me to hiss and sputter with pain. She was trying to be as tender as possible, but it hurt like fire. When she spoke again, there was an edge to her voice that had not been there before. “I was sent to kill the Beast, as it had been hunting the King’s stags. People feared that sheep and cattle, children, would be next, they did. So I took up my crossbows and set off into the woods, thinking myself better than any other. Thinking I could slay the Beast as easily as I slayed the armies I had fought before.” 

Listening, I twirled a piece of my hair between my fingers. Blissfully numb now, my body forcing me to ignore the pain of my break, I felt myself relax. “What then?” 

“I found him, I did. But he wasn’t what I thought he would be. A man. He used to be human, just as any of us. Kind eyes, gentle words. Oh, I was right in love with him, I thought!” She giggled, blushing hard as she dipped her head. Then the giddiness slipped away. She looked paler, shallow. “It wasn’t love, no it wasn’t. I wasted my time, getting caught here, within this castle, and then it was too late.” 

She looked at me, then, her yellow eyes piercing through the cool glass of her spectacles. It made me shiver, and I had to look away. “That’s what happens here, in this castle, it does. You’re drawn in, and then...you get twisted up. Broken. All of us are broken, we are, just like Mister Sebastian. His curse is ours now.” 

“So you went from being the high markswoman of the Kingdom to being some animal’s maid?” I spat. “Major downgrade, love. Why didn’t you just leave?” 

Sadness pooled up in her eyes, and it was her turn to look away. I noticed that fresh feathers, the color of dust, were pushing up from the skin on the back of her head, her neck. Before my eyes, she was becoming more of an owl, more of a monster and less of a woman. I pulled back, sharply, and hissed out in pain as my shattered ankle bone jutted up through the hole in my flesh once more. 

“Oh! Don’t do that, miss, please don’t!” Mey-Rin quickly grabbed me, forcing me to sit still. “I didn’t mean to frighten you--” 

“You were growing feathers!” 

“O-oh. Yes. Well. That happens, it does. It’s what this place does, like I said. Until there’s nothing human left.” She sighed. “Please, let me tend to your injury, miss--” 

I shivered. “It’s Grelle. My name is Grelle Sutcliff-Spears, Knight of the Royal Kingdom and future personal guard to the Duchess Dalles. But you may call me Grelle.” 

Mey-Rin clicked her tongue. “I had a fancy title like that, once.” She let a soft laugh, then shook her head. “Spears, eh? That’s a name I haven’t heard in some time! Good line of knights, that.” 

I hummed in response, head swimming with more questions than I felt this woman had answers to. I had no love for my father; he had bedded a woman he did not love, just for a night, and I was born nine agonizing months later. When he decided I should be considered for the knighthood, he swept me away from the only home I had known, the only person who loved me. I should have been thankful, I suppose. He gave me William, my half brother, the only man I really ever loved. 

Thinking of him made me scrunch up my face. I wanted to cry. 

“Oh, don’t do that--” Mey-Rin squawked, breaking my thoughts. I looked up at her, tears staining my cheeks. She frowned, clucking softly in the back of her throat. “That’s what traps you here, it is. Suffering. Oh, I should have made Mister Sebastian take you away the moment we saw you--You’ll be like us at this rate.” 

My breath caught in my throat. “Like...you?” My voice was harsher than I meant it to be, deeper. I suppressed a shudder. With a shaking hand, I touched my face. It certainly still felt like my face, though I was a bit chillier than I would have liked to have admitted. “I am going to become a monster?” 

Mey-Rin was silent as she finished with my ankle. Once she was done, she gathered up the bloody bandages, the bloody sheets, and offered me a weak curtsy. “Mister Sebastian will want to see you, he will. Get some rest for now.” Then she was gone, leaving a few feathers behind. 

No more answers, then. I growled lowly, angry. Blind rage pooled in the center of my forehead, leaving me with a pounding headache. My thoughts were flittering things, crimson butterflies, and try as I might to catch them, they kept slipping away. Finally, with a huff, I allowed myself to fall asleep. 

The Beast was named Sebastian. 

Sebastian...Michaelis?

The Lost Prince. 

My eyes fluttered open, but there was nothing around me but darkness. I felt tired, weak. I hated it. Hate. It flooded me, filling me until I screamed. I screamed, and screamed, and screamed, tears falling from my eyes as despair drank me up. I was so soaked in it, the fear of what was happening to me, the pain of realizing that William could not save me this time, not without endangering himself, that I did not feel the sharpness of my teeth as they bit into my bottom lip. 

Blood gushed forward, and I sobbed into the pillows of the foreign bed. 

“Don’t come for me,” I rasped out. “Please, William. Please.” 


	7. The Knight--Winter Falls

The ground was covered in snow and ice, despite the summer having just left the valley. There was a threshold, and I crossed it, even as my horse tried to jaunt away from it. Knowing that taking the mount into danger was mean to the creature, I dismounted. “Go home,” I ordered, and he obeyed. A good horse, pitch black with a white star on his forehead. I watched him disappear into the cold hush of the forest, then his bright aura for a while longer. 

Then I was alone. 

I took a deep breath to steady myself. The sky was all wrong. I knew my directions, and my abilities aided me to an extent. Here, however, in this forest of winter, I knew not which way north was. Everything was circular, leading back into itself, twisting and cold and spiraling out of the world I knew. 

Magic. 

It was the first time in my life that I had honestly felt it in my bones. It called to me, opened me up until I was raw and naked and alive in front of it. This forest was not of the wood I had explored as a boy. No. This was something else, something hidden away until it needed to be seen. 

I was seeing it now, for sure. 

Honestly. What had Grelle gotten herself into now? 

My lance was heavy in my hands as I continued forward, using it to move the worst of the thick brush off to one side. My internal sight, the aura sight, was not pleased with this place. The animals I could see moved separately of their spirits; there were dark patches of life against bright throws of decay and death. None of it made any sense. 

For the first time in my life, I forced myself to shut it down. Then, again, I was alone, without even the sparks of life to guide me forward. 

The day was bright above me, with twin suns that glowed an unholy orange and mauve. There were stars, too, sitting just as brightly though they offered no warmth. Moons hung, fat, in the sky as well, making the brightness of day seem dimmer somehow. This was a world between light and dark, a world between day and night. Grelle, being the romantic she was, would have come up with some sort of poetic dribble about how it was lovely, or twilight come alive, or something that I would pay no attention to. 

When I sighed, my breath was mist from my lips. 

“Are you lost?” a young voice said, suddenly, to my left. I whipped around, lance at the ready. A child, dressed in blues and blacks, watched me from a nearby stump. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, and I quickly realized that the ‘stump’ was indeed a living throne of mushrooms and decaying wood. His small, gloved hand rested on a cane, the head of which was a raven’s skull. Upon his pale face, he smiled, one eye shining brightly while the other was covered with his grey-blue hair. 

Danger.

The word flared in my head, just above my ears. This was no child, no human. I knew it for the blood that flowed within me as well. This was a witch, a magic user; a being between worlds. As my grandmother had been. As I was, in a way. 

I took a tentative step away from the witch. My eyes were glued to him, watching. Waiting. Let him make the first move. Let him strike first, if that was his will. 

The child-like entity smiled at me, though there was no joy in it. No humor. He was a cat, and I, his mouse; this was a game I had already lost. 

“I asked you,” he continued as he stood from his dying throne. “Are you lost?” 

“I am looking for someone,” I replied, guarded. I allowed cool indifference into my voice, though internally, I was panicking. “A woman; my sister, to be honest with you.” My muscles flexed, readying my lance should I need it.

The witch nodded, sharply. “I see,” he uttered. Slowly, he walked a circle around me, though his sight was cast away. “You are an aura-seer, aren’t you? Interesting. I had not expected your piece upon my board. Especially not this late in the game.” 

“Make sense, if you will.” 

“And if I do not wish to?” 

I lowered my gaze, only for a moment. “Then leave me to find my sister.” 

He echoed a hollow laugh, the noise filling the clearing until it shattered all other noise around us. I wanted to throw my hands over my ears, but I held fast. If he desired to attack me, that would have been a good chance for him to do so. When the laughter stopped, suddenly and sharp, a blade of ice, I looked to him again. 

The boy-witch stood before me with a mocking smile upon his face. “Your name is William, isn’t it? A knight of the realm of mortals. Yet, there is a power flowing through you, stronger than you know.” He tapped his cane. “You are an idiot of the highest measure, I do hope you know.” He laughed again when the corner of my eyebrows flinched. “You could be so much more than this wretched man you pretend to be. There is more to you--and for that, you must stay away.” 

“Away from what? Stop speaking in riddles.” 

“You are looking for your sister, you say. Yet you have no sister.” 

“She is a woman,” I snapped. Even this witch would debate that fact?

“My apologies, then,” he said. His tone was icy now, bored. I was unmoving, so the cat was no longer interested. At least, that was what I thought. He was suddenly closer than before, tapping his cane again close to my foot. I leapt back, away from him, and only his shining eye followed. “Siblings are bothersome. One must always take care of them, keep them safe; yet do they help you in return?” 

He started to circle me once more, face downcast, lost in thought. I followed him with the corner of my eye, hating that I had to shut off my ability to see auras. When he was behind me, I was not entirely sure if he would move to attack. I relented, flaring my second sight to my eyes. 

Two. 

By the Gods above, he had two auras. 

One was purple, but so deep that it looked blacker than black. A hole in the night sky; a dead star unable to rest. The second was brighter, blue, with speckles of black and gold hidden within. The two lights were fighting, fighting, battling within each other to the death. Two souls trapped, eternally, in one form. 

No wonder the witch was so bitter. 

“My name is Ciel; you may call me by that name.” He moved to my front again, looking up at me with both of his eyes now. One was pure and blue, like the sky just before evening; the other was fractured with violet lights and stars inverted. I was drowning in him as he looked up at me. “Others have called me the Phantomhive Witch.” 

I dipped my head, offering as much of a bow to him as I would. He was, in no way, my liege. Yet, knowing what he was, and seeing the twin auras within him, I knew that I would be in danger if I did not offer him some kind of yielding movement. “Are you going to allow me passage?” 

“If you will do something for me, in return.” 

“Name it; the sooner I have retrieved my sister, the sooner we may return to our kingdom and our lives.” 

The boy-witch nodded curtly. “There is a Beast that lives within this wood. He is a monster, a demon. Those he takes into his castle become twisted, like he is. From him, there is no escape. That is where you will find your sister. She already belongs to him, to his darkness, though she does not know it yet.” 

She was a prisoner? I bit back a hiss. 

I had not noticed it until then, but the forest around us had grown colder. Snow fell, a blanket of pale starlight, from the black sky above. My head was spinning, a cyclone focused on the witch before me. He was a pin prick of gravity, of light, of even ground. I was choking, and this time, Othello was not there to slam his hand into my back. 

Instead, I was helpless as Ciel brought winter down upon me, forcing a thought into my mind, twisting me up in his web. 

“Kill the Beast, William, and you shall save your sister. Make him love you. Make him know suffering--and then rip out his heart.” 

I dropped to one knee, unable to utter anything than, “Yes, my Lord.” 

Ciel smiled, sweetly, all sugar and cakes, though his eyes were full of rotting filth and suffering long since dust. 

And he had me.


	8. The Beast--Confusing Crimson

“‘The change is already upon her,’ says Oscar.” 

I sighed, listening to Snake as he slithered into my chambers. The parts of him became whole, the snakes that made him up twisting into a human shape. Cool, indifferent eyes stared at me, scales pale and silver as he watched. 

“There is nothing to be done about it. I will make her comfortable for now.” 

“‘Are you not going to woo her, sir?’ asks Emily.” 

“Would it matter? Even if I found love in her, would she ever return that emotion? Fickle things, hearts. No. I have long ago given up the thought of freedom. Eternity ticks forward. The witch has already won.” I move past my servant, the newest to my nest. He is an oddity, his consciousness having split when he lost his humanity. Though he can pull himself into the form of a man with silvery scales and pale hair, it was only for a time. 

Then he split into snakes, dozens of them, each able to go where I ask. It was useful, to be certain. The young man he had been when he came to me, however, was lost. 

Weren’t we all?

“Is there any other news?” I ask as I pull a cloak over my wings. They were broken from the moment they sprouted from my back, decades ago, a slap to the face. This Beast could not fly, despite his feathers, despite his wings. He was useless, and grounded, no matter how much I yearned for the freedom of the sky.

This castle was my cage. 

I just wanted it to end. 

Snake paused for a moment. No doubt the consciousnesses within him were fighting to speak. Finally, he offered a slow nod. “‘There was a flash of magic, just an hour ago, before night fell,’ says Wordsworth. ‘It felt familiar,’ says Emily. ‘Dark,’ adds Oscar.” 

“I see,” I mumbled, frowning. “Perhaps we have another visitor, then.” 

My current companion said nothing, watching me instead with little interest. 

“Keep an eye on the woman. That is your task, for now. I will see to any other disturbance within my lands. That is all.” I offered Snake a slight nod, and he simply fell apart. Where a man once stood, a gaggle of snakes, slithering and hissing, lay. Slowly, carefully, they slithered away, each to their own hiding holes. The one named Emily would tend to our guest, I knew; she was the best at that sort of thing. 

I certainly had to hope that Wilde was not the one to watch her; should he be found in her room, I assumed she would scream bloody murder--or, judging by her actions in the forest, cut his head off herself. 

A smile? On my face? Ah. I was growing soft. Odd, so close to the end of my existence. So close to the end of my freedom. 

Maybe I would welcome it. To forget, to become nothing, just a shell. A pet, as Ciel had called me. 

A Beast, truly.

“No need to sulk, Sebastian.” I chuckled to myself as I drew myself up to my full height. Imposing, I knew. There were men that had gone mad from the sight of me, the darkness of my feathers and the carmine of my eyes. 

Without another thought, I let my chambers to oversee my castle, and the guest within. Imagine my surprise when I discovered her pulling herself along the halls, using her sheathed sword as a crutch, grim determination on her pale face. 

She did not see me, not yet. A thin line of sweat shone on her brow, her flaming hair sticking to her skin as she took a moment to regather her breath. A string of curses befitting a sailor exited her sweet, red lips; I could see the sharpness of her teeth beyond. Ah, a predator. It suited her--and I had known her for less than an hour. There was a vicious danger to her beauty. No wonder she was so red, so alive and angry and--

“I can hear you breathing, you sod,” she snapped. “Come out of the shadows and face me, as a proper gentleman would to a lady.” 

I spat out a snorting chuckle. Surprised, I did as she asked, unfolding from the length of darkness that always sat at the edges of the vision of mortals. My feathers let a soft hush as they brushed the stone walls, my talons clicking against the floor beneath me. “Are you going to attack me again, madame?” 

She tipped her head to one side, watching me with interest. Her green eyes were cold, chilly. Calculating. “You certainly aren’t what I expected.” 

“What did you expect?” 

“H-m-m, nothing like you, for certain.” She grinned a bit, the sharpness of her teeth on display. “You look like a wounded bird. Like the crows Will used to bring home, when we were children. He nursed them back to health; he had that gift.” 

I paused. “William is your lover?” I asked, guessing.

It was her turn to laugh. “No, no, nothing like that, dear. He is my brother. Half brother, rather. We have the same father, but our mothers were different women.” 

We watched each other in silence for a few seconds longer. I was about to speak when she cut me off, those damnable green eyes shining brightly behind her crimson hair. “For a ball of feathers, you’re rather cute.” 

“Cute?” I echoed. I could not keep the disbelief from my voice. I drew myself up, pulling and pooling the shadows from the walls into a sort of cloak around me. My feathers lay flat against my form, glinting with stars and echoes of lives beyond my own. There were whispers around me, around us; the pain and suffering of those that lived within my castle. “I am the Lord of Darkness. I am a demon, the Beast of these woods; I am the Lost Prince, Sebastian Michaelis--” 

She yawned. The woman had the audacity to yawn. “M-m-m, that’s nice, love. Where’s the exit?” 

I hissed, glaring down at her. “There is no exit.” 

“Rubbish. You’ve got to have an exit. If there is an entrance, then I will use that, just in reverse. A window will do, if I must use that; I know how to scale a building.” 

Deflating, I stared at her, trying to figure her out. “Your ankle is broken.” 

“A minor inconvenience, really.” 

“What was your name?” I snapped. Why wasn’t she afraid of me? She was certainly ready to attack me before, to defend herself. I moved closer to her. The flames of the candles in the sconces upon the walls fades and flickered out. 

“It’s Grelle,” she said, easily, looking at her fingernails though. Bored. This blasted woman was bored with me. No matter how much I growled, and snarled, and sputtered out shadows and death, she found me boring. 

Who was this crimson Beauty? 

“Now, Bassy, are you going to let me leave, or will you stand in my way a bit longer? I’ll admit, you aren’t horrible to look at, and perhaps in another life--m-m-m, but not this one.” She smiled at me again, all sharp and wicked, but there was a playfulness to her that was painfully refreshing. “Your Mey-Rin already told me there is nothing I can do to leave, but that’s rubbish.” 

I sighed. “You are annoying.” 

“And you are still standing in my way.” 

“Don’t I frighten you? I am--” 

“Yes, yes! A Beasty, a monster, all of that and plenty more, I am certain. Yet for all of that, there is a sadness in your eyes, and if I had not mentioned it before-- _ you are in my way.”  _

With a disgruntled sigh, I moved to the other side of the corridor. “Be on your way, then,” I snapped. “Wretched woman. You will find your place soon enough.” 

I had turned away from her, but quickly regretted it. There was a quick and sound thwack across my back, right between my wings. She had smacked me with the broadside of her sheathed sword. Seething, I flared up, hissing at her, pushing myself into her face with all of the rage and annoyance I could muster. 

Giggling, she lay a peck of a kiss on my cheek, then turned away to continue her stumbling trek down the hallway. 

I brought my taloned fingers to my face, the only part of me still humanoid, still something of what I had once been, though feathers and scars broke up the pale skin I knew was there. Her lips burned along my cheek, a plume of fire, of the sun in my eternal night. 

Confused, I watched her until she disappeared around a corner, the echoes of her sword and heels filling my ears. 


	9. The Beauty--A Rock and  a Hard Place

The nerve of that man!

Man? No--that thing was truly a Beast!

I sighed, slumping down at the top of what had to be the fourth set of stairs. My ankle was going to be the death of me. I had to rest. This castle could not be much larger, could it? Had I been brought to a bleeding tower, a damsel in distress? The thought made me laugh bitterly. Me, a princess that needed saving. Right. 

Only I did. As I leaned my forehead against the cool stone of the wall beside me, I took a breath, assessing. Some knight I was. I knew I was strong. I knew I was good at fighting. Were there others better? Of course. Yet the only one who could ever best me in training was William--and, honestly, that was because I allowed him to. It was not lady-like at all for me to be so strong while he was so quick. Wasn’t it meant to be the other way around? A woman was meant to rely on her wits, on her feminine wiles and her speed while a gentleman was brute strength and anger. 

Pah. 

I buried my face in my hands. There I was, again. I was trying to rationalize myself to myself. It was a pain, and made me weary. Was it not enough for me to have to explain myself to others? Why did I have to hate myself so deeply? 

Sorrow. Pain. 

Mey-Rin had said to not feel those emotions. I had seen, first hand, what they could do here. The image of her neck springing fresh feathers flew through my mind. I cringed back, hissing. I did not want to become some monster, a bird or whatever else this castle could throw at me. 

Yet the sharpness of my teeth suggested that I had little choice. 

I ran my tongue over them, thinking. My own blood filled my mouth, the new, dagger-like appendages having sliced rather deeply. Humming, I closed my eyes, drinking it back, almost gagging on the iron taste. 

What was happening to me? I felt drunk, detached. Broken, hanging by a thread, and dangling over the edge into an abyss of spikes and unseen dangers alike. 

So why did every fiber of my being scream at me to leap? 

My skin itched. I rubbed at my cheek, huffing. This damned castle’s air was too dry for my complexion, surely. Those were not the start of scales I could feel across my jaw, leading up to the lower corner of my right eye. No. I was imagining things, and even if I were not, it was the lack of humidity here. 

I stood up. My ankle cried in pain, sending a shot of fire up my leg, but I ignored it. I had to. I still had a job to do. I had gotten myself into this mess, and if I knew my half brother well enough--which I did--I knew he would be on his way to rescue me. 

This damsel could rescue herself. At least, this time, she would. 

The stairs proved to be just as difficult as the others had been, but once I made myself scoot off of the last step, I found myself, blissfully, on the ground floor. Taking a moment to catch my breath, I looked around. Paintings and tapestries covered the walls, providing both something to admire and protection against the chill of the air outside, should there be a draft. 

My mother’s home had been as such; a little hovel on the outskirts of town, made mostly of sod and dirt, with little for a roof than some thin thachting. In the winter months, when the nights grew bitterly cold and ice frosted our tiny well outside, she would hang hand woven rugs in different colors upon the walls. She made sure to have a red one above my bed; she had made it when she was pregnant with me. 

I closed my eyes, pulling her face to the forefront of my mind. She had been pretty, once, or so I was told; pretty enough to turn the eye of a Knight of the highest order. When I knew her, she was thin, her eyes sunken in and her hands rough by years of work. Her back was bent, always, a kink in her spine now from tending the crops, from working the fields to keep us both fed. 

She died when I was taken from her; I received word, only a few months later, that she had perished. 

Anger. It tore up inside of me, ripping me open as I screamed. Violent. Yes. Let it out, that crimson remorse, the pain, the suffering, the dripping blood of your soul!

...those thoughts were not my own. Were they? 

I pulled my hand back, realizing that I had punched the wall beside me. I stared at the stonework, the thick rock bricks. An indent, the size and shape of my fist, lay upon them, and cracks wove their way up to the ceiling. Numb, I stared, then looked to my hand. Yes, my knuckles were pink and slightly scuffed, but nothing too terrible. 

So I punched the wall again.

This time, one of the stones broke, and I found myself with half of my arm, up to my elbow, buried in the wall. 

Stuck. 

“Oh, fuck,” I hissed. Wiggling and yanking, I tried to retrieve my hand, my arm, but to no avail. Instead of being angry, I felt...ashamed. Embarrassed. And I certainly hoped that a dashing Beast did not find me in such a position. 

Certainly not. The only thing that I could think of that would be worse would be to see William burst through the double doors behind me, lance in hand and armor shining, ready to rescue me--only to find his half-sister with her bloody arm trapped in a wall of stone. 

Which, of course, was exactly what happened. 


	10. The Knight--The Castle

When I awoke, I found myself outside of a massive, decaying castle. The stone of it had once been marble--at least, that was what it appeared. Now, ivy and moss caked it, choking it as the plant life climbed upward in twists of green. It stood out starkly against the pale silver of the snowy world around it. 

My head ached, filled with thoughts that I could not place. Memories I could not recall. I put my hand to my forehead, grunting as I pushed myself to my feet. 

The Beast. Yes. Grelle had gone off to battle a monster in the wood, and now she was missing. There was more, just there, at the edge of my thoughts, but I could not clasp it. The only thing I could recall was an eye with shattered color within. A voice, as well, young but filled with the bitterness of age, of a life wasted. 

It hurt. My head spun, so I forced the assumed dream down to the back of my mind. I had to find Grelle. I had to bring her home--that was the most important task. Slaying a monster would be a bonus, of course, but in all honesty the thought of going on a ‘quest’ with an unknown outcome did not bring any sort of pleasure. Some Knights, perhaps, would seek out such a creature to bring home, its head on a pike--but I? 

I had no need to. I desired only to find my half sister, to bring her home. To set things right. 

Without a sound, I gathered my lance, pulling the weight of it to me for comfort. My armor was missing--I did sniff at that--but for the most part, I was fine. Untouched. Yet the niggling thought that something had brought me here would not leave my mind. 

Honestly. 

The doors leading into the castle were thick and black, a type of wood I did not recognize. Crude carvings graced the panels, drawing my eyes only because of the garnets trapped in the wood. 

My aura sight grew bright, drawing myself in, digging into my brain and shouting out a story I had no wish to know. 

_ A man. A single man, a Prince, lost now. A witch. The Prince had made a wish, a contract. A deal with a devil, honestly--or something worse. Yet, the power he was gifted was not used as he had promised. No. Instead, the Prince used his newly found magicks to gather fame, to bring himself wealth and women, men and silks. He was sin itself; greed and gluttony, lust and pride personified.  _

__ _ When the witch discovered this folly, he punished the Prince, turning him into a monster, the Beast of the wood. A demon proper, horrible in nature, with no hope. All that he touched would be broken, twisted up like him, gnarled into fellow monsters.  _

__ _ Until-- _

__ The vision exploded behind my eyes, shooting shards of faded memories that were not my own into the space before me. The doors opened, just a crack, just enough for me to slip inside. Shadow. A lot of shadow, and darkness, though there was dim light to see with. 

Someone moved in the shadows, just ahead of me, and grunted. 

“Oh, fuck,” a voice hissed. 

“Grelle?” I called, and quickly pushed into the foyer proper. My eyes adjusted just as the flaming red of her aura filled my sight. I had to blink, to push it back, to see her correctly. Her back was to me, but I could see she was favoring her leg. She seemed to be stuck--in the wall of all things, her arm swallowed up by the stonework. “Honestly. What are you doing?” 

“Stop staring and help me, hm?” she half squawked, half snapped. “I seem to have gotten myself stuck.” 

“In a wall?” 

She paused. “Well, yes.” 

“Dare I ask how?” 

“Does that matter?! Come here and help me, please!” 

With a deep sigh, I entered the room. She was keeping her face from me, though I thought, at the time, that it was due to her embarrassment. She never had liked it when anyone saw her blush. I could not figure out why; it made her light spattering of freckles stand out across the bridge of her nose. I like that, especially in the summer months, when her skin took on more of the little brown spots. 

I assessed her arm, frowning deeply as I realized that some of the stones of the wall had collapsed upon her arm and wrist, almost up to her elbow. Pushing her to the side, gently, as far as she could go, I poked my fingers along her arm until I found the loose rock. “I believe I can wedge my lance in. If I move this rock just enough, you should be able to slip your arm out.” 

“Fine, yes. Good. Do it, then.” 

I hummed. “You are very angry,” I noted as I brought my weapon up. “This might hurt; please take care to not flinch.” The weapon slipped in just as easily as one could hope. I applied enough weight to lift the offending rock, and Grelle pulled herself free. Quickly, I retracted my lance before the stones beyond could crush the blade. 

“There. Now, we need to leave.” I turned, looking to my sister, watching her with a slight frown. She still had her face turned from me. “Let me see your hand.” 

She tsked. “I’m fine, Will. Promise.” Still, she did not move. 

“What happened to your ankle? You are favoring it.” 

“M-m-m, I had a bit of a spill, that’s all.” 

Cold. She normally was not this cold. My frown deepened. Stepping forward, toward her, I gently took her arm--the one that had been trapped--and drew her to me. Instantly, harshly, she pulled away. “Grelle--” 

“I am fine, William! How many times must I tell you? And, should you want to know, I am rather happy here. But there is no room for you, of course.” Her words were biting, angry. Yet there was an aloofness to them that worried me. This was not her. She did not act like this--not with me. Perhaps with the other knights, pushing them away, watching them from afar. “You need to go!” 

I grabbed her again, a bit more roughly this time. “Enough, Grelle. What has gotten into you?” I pulled her to me, making her look up at me. There was a glare to her, her eyes flashing, more gold than the green we had always shared. 

Red scales played on her face, leaving a trail, like tears, from the corner of her eye, down to her chin. 

As much as I hate to admit it, I let a soft yelp when I saw her like that. I blinked, stupidly, at her. “What--” I started, but then the memories flooded my brain. 

_ The witch in the wood, twin auras, a promise. _

__ _ My voice, hollow.  _

__ _ “Yes, my Lord.”  _

“Wiliam!” Grelle reached forward with her free hand. She smacked the side of my face, bringing me back to reality, back to her. The memories and images swarmed, faded, behind my eyes as I looked at her. Those damned scales--she was already trapped, just as the Phantomhive witch had told me.

My eyes narrowed, lips twitching. 

The Beast. I had promised to kill him, to make him love me, to make him hate me. To destroy his heart, to destroy him. Seeing Grelle, like that, the scales marring her pale skin, the gold of a monster in her eyes, the slit of her pupils and the sharpness of her teeth--I knew that I would do what I had promised.

For her, always for her, I would destroy a Beast from the inside. 

“You are hurting me,” she snapped, tugging her arm away from me. I released her, watching still as she rubbed her wrist. Soft plumes of red scales sprung up there, as well, laying across her joint and hand like crimson lace gloves. Again, she looked away from me, ashamed, I assumed. “Now you see? You have to leave, Will, before this happens to you, too.” 

“I cannot leave you here, Grelle.” 

“You can’t always save me! Will, please. Just this once, let me save you. Just listen to me, hm? Listen to me, and leave, and find some semblance of happiness outside of this damned castle. You have so much waiting for you, out there--don’t let me be the thing that keeps you from becoming someone great.” 

My mouth opened to argue. Before I could say a thing, however, before I could utter one syllable, a wave of black feathers consumed what little light there was in the grand foyer of this castle. Behind me, I could feel an aura bloom out of nothing, as though it was birthed from the shadows itself--

\--but the aura was light. All light, all colors, like a rainbow. Muted, yes, and tainted with a spattering of night, but it was there. It was beautiful. 

I turned, Grelle beside me, and looked up the stairs to the landing beyond. Even without the candles, I was able to see the Beast descend toward us. His long, black feathers brushed the steps, the walls, laying a whisper of insanity upon the air. His eyes glowed like embers, fire that no one could control. Well, I thought. Almost no one. 

The Beast was massive, a good three or so heads taller than I. He was human shaped, save for the wings that fell from his back like a tattered cape, but covered in tar-black feathers. Massive horns ripped up from his head, three in total, like a spiked crown. His hands were clawed, sharp and wickedly curved, yet he held them as though he knew exactly how to be both kind with them and to kill with them. Only his face, with skin so pale I thought it to be made of snow, remained human. Even that was feathered, though, around the edges, and scars broke his cheeks and lips. 

My knees wanted to knock together as he approached. Yet, I found that I was not afraid. No. Something else entirely, truth be told. I watched him, my own face numb and passive. Inside, I was screaming, burning. 

The Beast was beautiful, in his own, dark way. I had to wonder, for a moment--just a moment--if the witch knew that my heart would flutter at the sight of this monster. 

I cursed him, internally, before letting a breath pass my lips. 

“Good evening,” the Beast uttered, offering me a quick dip of his head. 

“Good evening,” I returned, watching him. “I have come to retrieve this woman.” 

He smiled. “I see.” There was a hint of a laugh upon his voice. It steeled me, made me numb, made me want to slap him. I had never felt such a wave of different emotions flood me. Yet--yet, I found that I was able to remain calm. Cool. Collected. 

There was a reason the other Knights thought I was made of ice. 

“Bassy,” Grelle said, her voice bored once more, “this is William. My brother. I was just seeing him out.” 

“Oh?” the Beast asked, looking to her with a slight smirk on his face.

“Mm.” Grelle tugged me back toward the door. “Right, love? You’ve said hello, and good-bye, and now, it’s time to leave--” 

The Beast chuckled. “Now, now, Miss Grelle. Do you not want your dear brother to stay for dinner? I am sure that the journey to my little roost has been difficult for him. Surely he would like something to eat, and perhaps a drink, before he returns to your world beyond.” 

She flinched beside me, and released a sound that she tended to make when she was either angry or otherwise displeased. It was a sound she often made when our father was alive. Now it was one she made when Ronald or Othello spoke to her when she was trying to get away from them. 

“Yes, I believe that would be suitable,” I said. Grelle flinched again, her fingers digging deeply into my arm. I looked at her, eyebrow raised. “It would be rude of me to turn down such an offer.” 

“Will!” Her voice was on edge, almost a shriek. “No, no! You have to leave, you have to get out of here--” 

I pulled my arm away from her, watching as more of those soft, red scales pushed up from the skin of her face. Worse yet, tears fell from her eyes, the crystalline drops falling over the fresh marks. 

She knew me. She knew that I could be cold, hateful, disinterested. She knew that I would never do something to hurt her.

Yet I found that I had to, now, to save her in the end. 

Though it hurt, I turned away from her, from the fire in her eyes and the tears on her face. I looked to the demon, the monster, the Beast. I bowed, just enough to be considered polite. “Your hospitality is welcomed, Sir Beast. Thank you.” 

He smiled, almost a grin. “You may call me by my name, Sir William. I am the Lost Prince, Sebastian Michaelis. Sebastian will sufficed.”

“As you wish, Sebastian.” 

Then he turned away from me, from us, and held out his arm. “This way,” he said, voice low. “I will have my chef prepare something suitable for you.” Then he moved, walking down one of the corridors at the edge of the darkness of the room. I watched him go, noting soft purple and blue streaks of color along the impossible black of his feathers, not unlike the oil from a lamp when spilled upon the ground. 

I took a breath, then a step, and I followed him as silently as I could, into the belly of the castle. I could hear Grelle make that sound again, behind me, though there was a hint of something more to her voice. 

A roar, and fire, heat. 

I closed my eyes. 

I had to save her, no matter what. 

_ Honestly.  _


	11. The Beast--Dinner Guest

The Knight was surprisingly silent behind me. I expected such a man to stomp, to make noise and be full of bravado, yet he was just as cold as the snow trapping my realm outside. William--yes. That was his name. A normal name, if anything; I had known a few Williams in my time. None of them had been like him. 

I was drawn to him, immediately. Perhaps this would be fun. I had two guests within my castle--and soon enough, two new servants. Two new gems to bring to my hoard, to add to my collection within my nest. One, a fiery ruby. And this man--hm. He was silver of some sort, I was sure. Shining against my own darkness, cold. A blade, perhaps. 

Together, we reached the grand dining hall. It was dusty, spider webs decorating it like streamers of silk. There was rarely a reason to use it, now, though I would sit here to amuse Bardroy on occasion. Never would I eat the food he made, of course. Charred piles of wasted meat--the man had never gotten the knack of the oven or stove, and often just used the hearth to ‘roast’ joints of mutton or leg of wild goat. Whatever I could bring home from my hunts. 

The others ate it, though, so I knew I was at least keeping my trapped, damned servants alive. 

Behind me, I heard William sniffle. I looked over my shoulder at him. He was assessing the room, lance still at his side. “Does it not suit you?” I chuckled. 

“It is in a state of disarray. Honestly, I thought you to be a Prince, Sebastian. Lost or no, this is no way to live. Especially in such a handsome castle.” His tone was cold, and despite myself, it bit into my chest. He wounded me, whether he knew it or not. He had brought attention to my roost, to the mess of it. I was suddenly ashamed of it, of this mess, of the blasted spider webs and dust upon the walls. 

I smiled, bitterly, and pulled out a chair for him. 

He added insult to injury by dusting off the seat with a handkerchief before sitting down. The frown on his face was chilly, colder than his voice, and his green eyes were like a trapped, frozen bloom of spring plants. What a sharp face he had! A blade of silver, surely. 

“Will your sister be joining us?” I asked upon realizing that the burst of red had not followed us. 

The man looked calmly at me. “Her mind is her own,” he snapped, though there was no anger in his tone. “If she wishes to join us, then she will. I believe she is rather...upset at this point in time. Best to allow her time to cool off.” 

“I see.” Chuckling, I took my own seat. 

Silence. 

We watched each other, waiting. Waiting for the other to make a move, to speak. I would not break, not first. I would not give this man the pleasure of that. Something about him made me hate him, even then, just in that moment. There was a scent to him that was wrong, that reminded me of someone else. 

He released a breath, a sigh. “I see that you are a rather good host.” Sarcasm? I believe that was a touch of sarcasm to his tone. “I do wish to ask you, however; why did you take Grelle? It would seem that your... _ home. _ ..is having an affect on her. A poor one, might I add.”

“She was in my woods,” I replied, easily. “Her horse had bucked her, and she broke her ankle. I took her in to prevent her from freezing to death. You should be thankful.” 

“Thankful that you are turning her into a monster, such as yourself?” 

“That is not something that I am able to control, I am afraid.” I ran my hand over the top of the table, drawing up a goblet of wine from the shadows. I took a sip, letting it flow over my tongue before speaking again. “It shall happen to you as well.” 

“We will see,” William replied, emotionless, cold. He was watching my hands, though, with mild interest. “You are able to control the shadows?” 

I clicked my tongue. “They and I are one in the same.” I pulled a second goblet out of the darkness, and slid it toward him. “I can bring things from anywhere in my castle to my hand, only by thinking it.” 

He sniffed again, but touched the cup. Frowning, he pulled it to his lips. 

“Is it to your liking?” I smirked. 

He put the goblet back on the table, using his handkerchief to dab his lips. “The body of it is not as heavy as one would like,” he said at length. “It is acceptable, I suppose. I would suggest allowing it to age a bit longer before sampling it again.” 

The corner of my eye twitched. “I see.” My voice was more of a hiss than I would have liked to admit. “Perhaps the Knight would prefer water?” 

“Tea, if you have it. Strong. Earl Grey. No sugar. A dash of cream.” 

“...as you wish.” 

Once he had his tea, William settled back in his chair. I watched him, his black hair just so upon his head, as though he spent time tending it. Everything about him was like that. Even though he had traveled through a magic forest, he still looked impeccably put together. Perfect, even. Where it not for the few scars upon his hands, probably from his training as a knight, I would have thought him to be a man carved from ice and snow by means of bringing perfection into the world. 

“You are staring.” 

“Ah,” I said, jerking back to reality. “I suppose I am. My apologies.” 

Those cold, green eyes flicked open to glance at me. He set his tea cup down with a very soft  _ clink. _ “I fully expect to remove Grelle from your care, and to return her to the knighthood, proper.” 

“As you have said. And yet, as I have mentioned--”

“She is your prisoner.” 

“She has started to change. She cannot leave my lands now, I am afraid.” I sipped my wine. Damn him, he was right. I found that the drink tasted terrible in my mouth now. However, I was too proud to grab something else. So, foolishly, pig-headedly, I continued to drink the subpar wine. 

“Explain.” 

I settled back and sighed. “I was cursed.”

“Obviously.”

“I will not bore you with the details. However--I was not the only thing to be cursed. This castle, my lands, my domain--all of them are just as twisted as I. Once someone has stepped into my world, my realm, they begin to change and twist, too. There is no escape, other than death--which some have taken, gladly.” 

William said nothing, allowing me to speak. He did watch me, however--and I could feel that he was seeing more than just my feathers. I looked into the cold green of his eyes. They looked blurred, the pupils unfocused. I was drawn into them, despite myself, despite everything I had ever known. 

We were inches apart when we both came to, staring at each other. 

He grunted, and pulled away quickly. “Do you mind?” he snapped--the first touch of emotion I had heard in his voice. It was not anger, but--embarrassment? Indeed, the tips of his ears were growing red, though the rest of his skin was just as even as it had been before. Interesting. 

“What did you see upon me?” I asked, pressing. “What magic do you wield, Knight?” 

“Dinner!” 

Bard’s voice broke through the haze between William and myself. I looked up as he and Mey-Rin wheeled in a couple of old carts, both covered with something akin to food. It smelled burnt, as usual, though I did note that there was a rather decent looking bread pudding tonight. 

I waved them away. “Let us eat, then.” 

“M-Mister Sebastian, where is your other guest?” Mey-Rin asked with a frown. Her grey feathers were ruffled, just enough to be noticeable. “You haven’t cast her out, I hope?” 

“I left her in the foyer,” I said with a wave of my hand. “Tend to her, if you wish.” 

She nodded harshly before darting off, nearly taking out Bard as she rushed to the doors. Sighing, the chef followed her, his tail hanging low. 

William frowned sharply. “Your servants?” he asked. “Like yourself, they are tainted.” 

“Like your sister. Yes. This is what happens within this castle.” I plucked a piece of meat from one of the carts. It was basically charcoal, but I snapped it up with my sharp teeth. No need for it to be wasted, and beyond the first layer of ash was a rather delicious chunk of raw, bloody venison. “It will happen to you as well.”

“I have my doubts.” 

“We will see.” 

The meal went by in silence then, just the two of use choking down what Bard had cooked. The bread pudding was passable, at least, and there was plenty to drink to wash it down with. After a few minutes of suffering through the wine, I brought myself mead. William shared it with me, despite the look on his face suggesting that he was not one for alcohol. 

I set down my goblet, finally, the meal finished. “I will have a room made up for you. Near your sister’s chambers, of course. I will make you both as comfortable as possible during your time here. I do wonder what sort of creature you will become. Your sister--she is something else, isn’t she?” 

William said nothing, lips a thin line on his face. Even with such a sour look, he was handsome. 

Handsome?

The thought was so sudden, so slick and pure in my head that it gave me pause. I placed my taloned hand over my chest, feeling the stirrings of my heart. Something I had not felt in nearly one hundred years. So close to the end of my existence, so close to Ciel Phantomhive winning--

\--was this man the one I had been waiting for?

I hissed, pulling away. No. Surely not! Handsome he might be, but he was about as interesting as a door knob. There was nothing to him but the chill of winter. Had I not had enough of that, of the snow and ice surrounding my world? 

He eyed me with those green jewels--those damned beautiful orbs of chilly indifference. That face, so strong, so sharp, and those lips. 

Those damnable lips. 

He smirked, a secret to himself, then stood. “Very well,” he uttered. “See to it that you do. I am rather tired. Shall I see you in the morning, Sebastian?” 

“...you shall,” I said as my head hammered angrily. “I will make sure of it.” 

“Very well.” 

And then he was gone, and I was alone with a fire in my chest and a pain in my head. I growled, lowly, and overturned the table. Unfinished food, plates, and other tableware scattered to the ground. 

I hated him.

  
  
  
  
  



	12. The Beast--A Passage of Time

He did not change. 

Weeks had passed, falling away like leaves from a tree in autumn. The man I came to know as William T. Spears, Knight of the King’s personal guard, did not change at all. No feather, no puff of fur nor scale sprouted from his skin. No horns, no tail, no wings. Nothing. He remained perfectly perfect, human through and through. Emotionless, eternal, ice. 

Why?

Why had this man, of all men, of all the humans that had happened upon my realm of eternal night and sorrow, not changed? He, who had so much to lose; he, who watched as his sister slipped away from him and into the world of horrors I had known for far too long; he remained unchanging, indifferent. Steady. A mountain that no wind, no matter how strong the gust, could destroy. 

He was stone. I was convinced that this man was made of cold stone, of marble, and nothing else. He had no heart. He could not. 

I watched him, day after day, second after second, trying to pry apart his mystery. 

Every morning, I found him in the dining room, instructing Bard and Mey-Rin on making tea properly. “You will never get through to them,” I had told him, even as he poured me a cup himself. “I have tried, for years--”

“Drink,” he mumbled. I did. Damn him. It was good--a bit stronger than I liked myself, but still delicious. “You need a firmer hand with servants. Yielding, so as to not break them, but firm all of the same.”

“You speak as though you commanded a household,” I said with a smirk, watching him take his now usual seat beside me. 

“My mother did, once. I paid attention, as any good son would.” 

“Mother?” I echoed with a chuckle. “I had thought that you would have been hatched, honestly. You are so cold. Even to your beloved sister--whom, might I add, you are nothing like.” 

He set his cup down. “We had different mothers.”

“Had?”

“Grelle’s mother passed soon after my father brought her home. My mother tended to her as best she could, but Grelle was...an interesting child.” Another sip of his tea. “Unfortunately, my own mother passed just days after Grelle and I were accepted into the knighthood. She suffered from a terrible illness.” 

Still cold, even when speaking of his mother. I tilted my head to one side, watching him out of the corner of my eye. “And your father?” 

William paused. “He was not a kind man.” 

“Oh?” 

“Mm.” Nothing else. He offered me no other look into his past, into the childhood he had shared with Grelle. It was hard to imagine him as a youth; surely he had come out of the womb as a stuffy, frozen adult, frown on his face and hair impeccably kept. 

Then he looked at me, through me. “Tell me of your family, then, if you are so interested in mine.” 

I choked out a startled laugh. “My family has been dead for decades. They do not matter.” 

“Spoken like a true Beast.” He sipped his tea, again, but there was a slight hint of a smile upon his features.

The door creaked open, a flash of red just outside. I watched as Grelle entered. Her ankle was doing much better now, though she still walked with a slight limp. I suspect that Mey-Rin, excited to have another woman to speak to, had been spending time with the fiery beauty; if not, then I had no idea where Grelle had found her current clothing. She wore a comfortable looking red blouse, which was tucked into a pair of black leather leggings. 

I watched her take a seat beside William, pulling the tea pot to herself. Red scales flared against the otherwise pale complexion of her skin. They had grown in number over the course of the last few weeks, though it did seem, with William here, that her transformation had slowed. The last thing to have changed about her were the small, nub-like horns sprouting from her forehead. Even now, she was using her bangs to attempt to cover them up. 

“Good morning,” she offered sluggishly, and poured herself a cup. “Mm, tea again. Don’t you ever make coffee?” 

“It is hard to find here, mi’lady,” I smirked. She cast me a sideways, long suffering glance, before sipping her drink. She did not put cream nor sugar into it; she had told me, once, off handed, that something bitter helped her wake up. 

Comfortable. The three of us were growing, in a way, comfortable. 

I cleared my throat. “And the agenda for this morning?” I asked. 

The siblings looked to each other, Grelle with a sharp frown and William with his normal cold indifference. As one, they shrugged, then looked back to me with their green eyes. Despite their differences, sometimes, I looked at them and thought them to be twins. 

With a sigh, I stood. “Allow me to show you both something, then. I grow bored of merely sitting around and doing nothing all day.” Drawing up myself, I stood over them and let the darkness of what I was slide into the room. 

“Oh, no, not this again,” Grelle groaned as the room around us shifted. I forced the stonework back, the table and everything else disappearing. With a hiss of feathers, I brought us elsewhere, out of the castle, and into my forest. The shadows dropped, leaving the three of us in a clearing. 

“We are capable of walking,” William snapped. He dusted himself off, as though attempting to brush away my magic. I chuckled at him, and he offered me a sharp glance. “Where have you brought us now?” 

It was fun, in a way, to tease these two--especially William. Transferring them out of the castle, into the other ruins that lay upon my land...that had been interesting. Grelle had killed a bear with surprising ruthlessness and grace. We ate well that night, even if Bard had burned most of the meat. 

“Come,” I said, easily, and stalked the snow toward the wrought iron fence a few yards away. “William, you wanted to know more about my past, did you not?” I pried open the gate. Creaking and groaning in protest, it swung, finally, on its rusted hinges. “This garden had once belonged to someone very important to me.” 

Grelle followed me first, her curiosity plain on her face. William followed after, a few steps behind, his eyes darting around. No doubt looking for danger. Still, they followed me, their feet crunching on the snow behind me. 

The roses were crusted in ice, as they had been since my fall. Even now, when I touched them with one tender claw, the frozen petals fell away like tears. I drew my hand back. 

“It is all...ice,” Grelle said with a puff of steam from her lips. She, too, touched one of the many roses that had once grew here. “They are all dead.” 

“This place…” William started, but he had turned away, head full of his own thoughts, no doubt. 

“There was someone I cared for, deeply. Not a lover--no. Something else. A friend, perhaps. Yet I wronged him, damaged him. This garden was once beautiful, the roses blue and violet. Now...now they are cold as his heart, and as dead as my future.” I plucked one of the frozen blossoms, letting it crumble between my talons. 

Ciel would never forgive me for forsaking his trust.

And that witch had cursed me for it. 

I squeezed my eyes shut, a sigh escaping from between my lips. 

Movement, to my side. I opened my eyes to find William staring at one of the plants. The thorny rose bush was winding and black under the thin layer of ice. The blossoms, once beautiful, were ruined, withered, and encased in a cold tomb. What did he see, in that moment, as he, too, reached for one of the flowers?

And why did the rose spring to life under his touch, the ice melting away?

My breath caught in my throat, watching him then, warmth and life flowing from his fingertips and into the long dead rose. The ice fell, cracking and shivering, turning to water. The rose bloomed anew, green leaves--green like the depths of his eyes--flooding the gnarled stems. The thorns were less sharp, more gentle. 

He swayed, and I caught him before he could fall. 

“What--” he uttered, blinking up at me stupidly as his eyes cleared. 

“What sort of magic are you?” I whispered. Even in my arms, his head cradled in my hands, he was an impossible warmth--the sun finally breaking through the clouds and storm of my existence. I saw light in him, then, for the first time since the curse had fallen upon me. I set him up, and straight, on his feet, but he still found it in him to lean against me for support. 

Where his feet touched the snow, it melted, leaving virgin earth beneath him--and freshly sprouted spring grass. 

“I do not rightly know,” he mumbled, hand to his head as he caught his breath. “I believe I need to lie down.”

I had nothing to say to that. Instead, I nodded, gathering him up in my darkness. I remembered Grelle before I could leave her behind, and looked up--

\--but she was already gone, leaving heeled tracks in the snow. 

She would find her way back, I was sure. My darkness tightened around William and me, yet...it was not as dark as it once had been. He was a light, in my arms, even as I pulled him through space and back to the castle. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled. I left him outside of the door to his room, watching with interest as he slipped inside. The lock clicked behind him, and once again, I was left alone. His warmth still played upon my skin. 

When I looked at my arm, I saw skin instead of feathers, for the first time in decades.

  
  



	13. The Knight--Sun Rise

I felt dizzy, weak. My entire body burned as though aflame. No matter how hard I tried, I could not find sleep that night. Instead, thoughts rushed my feverish mind. Many of them, I assumed, were not my own. Heaving, I tried to catch my breath, fight for air, find some sort of comfort in the chill of my room. 

“You are far more powerful a man than I thought, William.” 

I sat up in bed. Sweat poured from me, making everything seem slick. I was drowning in myself, in whatever malady had gripped my being. My aura sight only offered a dazzling gleam, switching from violet to blue to black. My head, pulsing, crushed whatever thoughts I could form. I had to roll to one side to keep from vomiting on myself and the bed. 

The witch’s laugh filled the room. “You could have been something wonderful, had your humanity not kept you bound to your damned sincerity. Maybe there is hope for you yet; people like us often need only one thing to break the binds of mortality. A sacrifice, usually, of some kind or another.” 

Swimming up through the haze, I could make out Ciel’s cane tap along the ground. There was a soft thudding as it hit the carpet, just beside my borrowed bed. A gloved hand, small, touched the back of my neck. 

“Leave me,” I snapped, pulling away from him. When I turned, looking for him, I saw only his smile and the glow of his mismatched eyes. “I am doing as you wish.” 

“Oh, believe me, I know. You are doing very well, William. All of the pieces are falling into place. Soon enough, you will have your sister’s freedom, and I will have exactly what I have wanted for the last one hundred years.” 

“Why?” I asked, suddenly, the question surprising me just as much as it seemed to surprise him. I sat up properly, wiping my mouth with a handkerchief. “Why do you wish to torture Sebastian so?” 

He sat on the edge of the bed, watching me passively. There was a tiny pout upon his lips, and his brows were furrowed as though attempting to remember why he wanted Sebastian to suffer. “We were...friends. Friends? Perhaps something like that.” He looked away from me, running his thumb over the eye socket of the raven skull on his cane. “When he was young, he tried to save me. Part of me. Before I was--” He grunted. When he spoke again, his voice was painfully soft, on the verge of tears.

And he was a young boy, as he had not been for, what I could assume, decades.

“I was once a pair of twins. There were two of us, two young boys, who wanted the world. Yet--yet. Our power was too strong for both of us, and it destroyed one of us, forcing his soul into the other twin’s body. Sebastian’s father, the King of our country, knew us, our family. He took us in, despite a prophecy that we would destroy everything he held dear. Sebastian was...a friend. Even as he grew, and aged, while we--I--remained youthful, he cared for me.” 

“You cared for him. Like a brother,” I suggested, my own voice low. 

“Indeed,” Ciel admitted, still stroking the raven skull. “When his father fell ill, he begged me to give him power. He begged for me to imbue him with magic so that he could be a better King than his father before him. To keep his country from war, from famine. In return, he would name me the witch of the court, and keep me safe from those who hunt our kind.” 

“Am I to assume he did not keep his bargain?” 

Ciel smiled, eyes glowing with betrayal, with pain. With hate. “He did not,” the boy-witch said softly. Finally, he looked to me. “Mortals will find a thread of power, of strength, and once it is in their hands, they become greedy. It taints them, tints them with black and darkness, and pulls all light from their beings. Sebastian, once a man I loved as a brother, as a protector, took my gift. He turned it against me, using it to become a master of his country, not a leader. He became sin itself, living in decadence while throwing witch hunters my way in hopes of keeping his power a little longer.” 

I took a breath, imagining it. The betrayal, the raw hate that this eternal youth must have felt. His pain, his surprise. His suffering. “You cursed him,” I said, quietly. I watched his auras twitch and pull, trying to find something to hang onto. Something to calm them, to draw back the emotional turmoil they felt. “Ciel--”

“I had no other choice.” 

“You have cursed others, now, with your anger. Did they deserve your wrath?” 

He glared at me, all dark fire and burning hate. “Humans are all the same, William. You will discover that, soon enough, I am sure.” Then he stood from the bed. “Stay on your course. You are doing very well to make him like you, whether you know it or not. That trick in my garden was a good touch.” 

“It was no trick--”

“You’ll learn your powers, well enough, once you’ve awoken properly.” 

Despite the fever plaguing me, I stood. I found my feet below me, and I drew myself up. Looming over him, I stood beside Ciel. “If you think I will become like you--”

He laughed. When he looked up at me, he was laughing, bitterly. “Who are you to say you are not like me already?” 

Then he was gone, and with him, my strength. I collapsed back on the bed, painfully aware of my own body, of the smell of vomit on the floor, of the salty swirl of my sweat upon my brow. I felt like I was going to die. 

Blissfully, I fainted. 

“Poor thing was sick, he was.” 

“Mey, help me sit him up. Get some cool water, would you, love? I’ll tend to him. I used to, a lot, when we were younger. He was sick an entire season…” 

“Y-yes, Miss Grelle!” 

The door opened and shut. Someone who was warm and smelled lovingly of roses and white musk cradled me in their arms. I knew that scent. I knew that voice. 

“...Grelle?” I mumbled, my eyes fighting to open, to focus. Her aura, all crimson and loving, bloomed before me. Calming me. She was humming, softly, the song that my mother used to sing when one of us was ill. “What--”

“I came to check on you,” she said quietly. “What happened? You’ve been sick on the carpet, and you have a fever. Oh, love, was it too cold in that wretched garden yesterday?” She lay a kiss on my forehead. “I should kill Sebastian for putting us out there without a proper coat--”

I sighed, leaning against her. “Where did you go? You...you did not come back with us.” 

“I needed to go for a walk,” she replied--and her aura was guarded. That was not good. Usually, she felt she could tell me anything, everything. Even things I did not wish to know. What was she keeping from me, now? Before I could ask, the door opened again, and the maid, Mey-Rin, reentered with a basin of cool water and a few cloths folded over her arm. Behind her marched Finnian, the gardener, holding a small, black bag. 

“Please,” I tried to protest. “I am fine--”

Grelle squeezed my arm, looking down at me with more gold in her green eyes than I would have liked to have admitted. The scales on her face were a bit more plentiful than they had been, and her small horns were a touch longer, sharper. Her bangs would not hide them any more. “Oh, hush,” she mumbled, and kissed my forehead again. “Thank you, Mey. Finny, what do you have?” 

The gardener grinned, the antenna on his forehead wiggling about. “Mey-Rin told me that Mister William was feeling sick, so I ran to Bard, who gave me some peppermint and ginger for him to chew. It always helps my stomach when I’m not feeling well!” Beaming, he set the little black bag on the bed beside me. 

“Thank you, Finny, that was very thoughtful,” Grelle said with a weak smile. “Might I ask you to have Bard make him some broth?” 

“Okay!” he chirped, quickly darting out of the door again. Out of all of the servants, he was the least changed, the least monstrous. Considering his cheery disposition, I did not find it surprising. 

Mey-Rin had set down the basin and was currently offering Grelle a few of the cloths. “Do you mind leaving us alone for a bit, Mey?” 

“Oh, no, I don’t mind, I don’t,” the maid said softly. She dipped her head slightly to Grelle before darting off as well. 

The damp cloth was blissfully cool against my skin. Grelle lay one on my forehead, while she wetted a few more to wipe down the rest of my face, my throat, my chest. All of the while, she was humming that song. 

After a time, once I was relaxed, she kissed my cheek. “So,” she said. I noted that her tone was a bit stiffer now, a bit guarded. “You and Bassy, hm?” 

“What are you talking about?” I grunted. 

“Well. It’s pretty obvious that you L-I-K-E him, brother dear.” She raised an eyebrow. “I’ve never seen you so comfortable with someone else before. Especially not a man. Are you falling in love?” 

I let a sigh escape my lips. “Grelle--”

“It isn’t a  _ bad _ thing, William. It’s rather good, isn’t it? I mean--”

“Grelle--”

“--you deserve to find love, don’t you? You deserve to be happy.” 

“I can be happy without falling in love.” 

“Can you?” 

Another sigh. “I am not like you, Grelle. I don’t have the heart to love someone. Not like that.” I screwed up my face, looking up at her. “Even if I did, it would not matter. He doesn’t like me.” 

She giggled. “Are you sure?” 

Blinking, I managed to sit up. The cloths fell from my face and neck, but I ignored them for now. “Whatever do you mean?” 

She smiled, kissing my forehead again. “Well. I suppose you should figure that out for yourself, hm? Oh, it’s so romantic, though, isn’t it? A Lost Prince, in love with a valiant Knight! It’s from a fairy story, truthfully!” 

“He isn’t in love with me.” 

Grelle eyed me, fire in her eyes. “Oh, I’m not sure about that, Will.” She jerked a thumb to the side of the room. Beside the window, as the sun rose, light flooded through the glass to fall upon a vase of violet and blue roses--ones from the garden Sebastian had shown us. 

The ones I had, somehow, managed to thaw. 

In the center of the bouquet was a single, perfect, white rose. 


	14. The Beauty--Envy

Of course it would be William. Of course Sebastian would find my half brother charming, and kind, and sweet, and whatever the Hell else he had to see in him. Of course--because I would never catch his eye. 

I was never enough.

William stared stupidly at the bouquet of flowers. The vase they were in was a lovely crystal thing, with the sun hitting it and casting a shower of rainbows upon the floor and wall beyond. Oh, how I wanted to smash the damned thing, right over William’s oblivious skull! I wanted to scream at him, to break him, twist him up and dump him out. 

The golden son, the perfect Knight, the man who would one day protect the King himself. The man who would be allowed to settle down, eventually, to marry a woman of his choosing--or man, even, as the King liked him enough to turn away from that ‘sin--’ Oh! It was too much to bear. William had a future, a life ahead of him. He had everything, a path gilded in platinum. 

Yet he was too stupid to see it. 

Why did I not have that problem? Why did I have to fight for every look, even inch of love and hope that I ever had felt? 

Rage filled my vision, my head, until I felt that I might burst from it. Still, for him, always for him, I smiled. I pushed down my own pain, my own envy and hate for him, because I loved him still. Even I could not wish anything bad upon him, my brother, my William. I wanted the best for him, even if it seemed he was always destined to have it. 

It still hurt like a bitch, though. 

I put my hand on his shoulder, smiling still, though I knew my teeth were sharp. An actress--that was what I had to be, even as my insides twisted and churned, the curse working its way internal. “Are you feeling any better, love?” 

He put his hand over mine, his eyes still trying to work out the mystery of the roses. “When did he come?” he asked. “I do not remember him entering--”

I shrugged, pulling away from him. “Does it matter? Besides,” I waved my hand in the air, “he’s Lord of this castle, and of shadow. I’m fairly certain he can do whatever he wishes.” Swishing my hips, I sauntered to the door. “I’ll leave you be for now. Please, eat the broth when it’s brought up, hm? I know Bard isn’t the best chef, but he tries, and he has spirit.” Another forced grin, then I was gone from him. 

Pressing my back against the door, I gasped. Drowning. I was drowning in it, in my love-hate with my brother. I felt hot and gross and wrong; I had to move away. Eventually, I found my way back to my own room, the chambers Sebastian had given me. 

Inside, I had made the quarters my own, properly. Mey-Rin had been a massive help, eager to have a fellow woman in the castle to chat with. She was sweet enough, and stronger than she let on. I rather liked her, found her dear. So, with her aid, I was able to find enough red fabric to coat the walls, draping the silks and velvets upon them until it looked like soft blood on the walls. We had moved the bed--Finny was a help with that, considering that it was made of solid oak--and in its place I had piled up cushions and pillows, furs and more silks. 

During the day, while Sebastian and William had tea and discussed whatever stuffy subject they could, I walked the length of the cursed lands. I found hiding holes, all full of different things that caught my interest. Armor from those stupid enough to try to kill the Beast. Riches, hidden away in rotted coin purses. 

Mey-Rin had started to call it my hoard. Maybe she was right. 

The worst part of it was that all of these coins, these pieces of armor, these glimmering jewels and gems, were comfortable. I found myself lounging on them more than the cushions, letting them slide across my skin and scales. They calmed me, pushing sweet dreams into my head, until I was able to let go of the anger and envy that was consuming me. For now, at least. 

So I lay there, curled up upon my little collection, and slept. 


	15. The Hero--A Lady's Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...surprise guest star chapter!

They had been gone for far too long. Much too long for comfort. It ground at me, bit at me, and it annoyed me. Spears and Grelle were two of the best in the Knighthood. We were falling apart without them. 

Plus...I was pretty sure some of this was my fault. I was the one that told Grelle, originally, about the Beast. Then, William, too, when he asked Othello and me that night while we took watch. The guilt of that weighed heavily on me. It was certainly not a good look, either; the ladies of the court told me I looked sick. 

Weeks passed. A month, properly, and then more. Our Captain was growing angry. Rumors that the siblings had abandoned their posts, had deserted the Knighthood, swept up the mouths and minds of everyone around me. I hated it, honestly--hard-ass or not, William was a good man, and would never do something like that.

And Grelle--

Just the thought of her smile, her freckled skin, her long, red hair--

Well. It brought me low and tied up my stomach into knots. 

The day that marked the second month of their disappearance, I found myself hauling supplied into the horse stables. My saddlebags were full soon enough, both with food and clothing, and weapons. If a Beast, if that monster I had sketched from my dreams had honestly taken the two, I needed to get them back.

I had to admit, I would need help.

“Othello!” I called out, catching the attention of the medic as he entered the stables. He was nibbling on some foul smelling candy or another; the man had a sweet tooth, but for all of the wrong kinds of sweets. He looked to me, eyes wide yet sharp. I don’t know why, but he always reminded me of a fox with those eyes. 

“Hm? Oh, Ronald. Is something the matter? I was just going to head into town for some herbs.” 

Jerking my thumb over my shoulder to the horse, I offered him a grin. “Wanna go find a Beast?” 

With one eyebrow raised, he looked between me and the horse at my back. “I take it you’re going to go look for Grelle, rather than for the fame that bringing that kind of monster home would give you?” He smiled as I deflated, just a touch. “You’ve been obsessed with her since she put a fork through your hand.” 

“That was years ago, Othello.” 

“Mmhm. Years of you fawning over her.” 

My face grew hot, and I turned away. “Well. I could use your help, if you want to come.” 

“What do I get in return?” 

“Huh?” 

Othello approached me, opening the saddle bags to look inside. He was standing on his tip-toes, easily the shortest of us in the Knighthood. Even some of the younger men and women were taller than him. Stronger than him, too. What he lacked physically, though, he made up mentally. Easily smarter than any of us, there was a reason he was respected. 

I mean, it was easy enough for him to heal you. It was just as easy for him to slip some kind of poison into your tea, and end you, just like that. 

I shivered. 

“I asked, what do I get in return? You’ll be heralded as a hero.”

“...okay, Othello, what do you want, then?” Maybe making a deal with him would be a good idea. If I got hurt, or if Grelle or William was hurt, then he’d be good to have on our side. 

With a smirk, he looked up at me, fox-like eyes shining. “I want to study the Beast,” he purred around the candy in his mouth. “And, I want a kiss.” 

I stared at him, mouth open. “Uh...ex-excuse me?” I uttered. “You want me to kiss you?” 

At that, he laughed, and I relaxed. Othello was so not my type. Well. That was a lie, but the more I thought about it, the more uncomfortable I became. I turned away. “Well, I’m sure there’s plenty of women that would give you a kiss for rescuing those two, and felling a Beast--”

“You misunderstand, Ronald.” With a snap, he closed the saddle back and sighed. “You aren’t the only one that likes her.” He glanced up at me, smirking. “She is...well. She is a Beauty, isn’t she.” 

The thought of sharing Grelle with Othello, even for just a kiss, hit me oddly. There was a part of me that found it exciting, that made my blood pump and my pulse quicken. And then there was another part of me that wanted to kick the little gremlin in the face for even suggesting it. 

“It’s up to her,” I said, finally, relenting. “You’ll have to ask her for it, if you want it.” 

“Fair enough. Let me get my things, and then we’ll head out.” 

“Be here in an hour. Otherwise, I’m leaving without you.” 

Othello nodded, darting out of the stables. 

I stood there, a bit dizzy, and wondered what both of them would feel like against my own body--her sweet, rose-like smell, and his headier, herbal scent. 

“Get it together, Ronald,” I snapped, and finished getting my horse ready.


	16. The Beast--Sunlight

Light pooled into my personal chambers, drawing a surprised squawk from my lips despite myself. I turned, sweeping my broken wings out in what I knew would be an impressive manner. Only it was William behind me, and nothing seemed to impress him. 

Yet, I would try. 

“Ah,” I purred, allowing my feathers to unfurl against the darkness of my roost, my nest. The sunlight he brought with him pulled sparkles from my trinkets, from the shiny things I collected to surround myself with. I was a bird, after all; collecting such things was simply within my nature. “Welcome, William.” 

Without so much as a bow, he entered my room. I rose to meet him, turning from my desk properly so that I might look upon him. “You brought flowers to my room,” he said, voice just as cold and passive as ever. “Honestly. I would think that the lock upon my door would be enough to keep you out.” 

“You do not lock your door,” I chuckled. “And on the few nights that you do, I awaken to hear you quickly undoing the locks. I suspect that you do not like to be caged anymore than I do.” His eyebrow twitched, giving me all of the answers I needed. 

He was surprisingly easy to read, once one grew to know him. 

And, oh, how I realized I needed to know him. Every inch of him, every second, every breath. 

Something had changed, within me, and perhaps, within him. From that moment that I held him in the garden, watching his magic thaw the garden, I had felt something thaw in my heart as well. This man was a light in my darkness, a star in my eternal night. I was not sure if it was love that I felt, but a kinship, to be certain. 

I wanted this seed he had planted within me to grow. If he was the light it needed, then I would be the earth, holding it, nurturing it. 

William cleared his throat, drawing me away from my thoughts. “I would ask you to not enter my room without my permission again. This might be your castle, but--”

I pressed closer to him, reaching out one clawed hand to grab him by the jaw. He glared up at me with cold indifference. Of course. He had probably seen that move coming. He could read me, now, just as well as I could read him. Still, it was enough to silence him. I pressed the pad of my thumb against his lower lip.

Surprisingly soft.

“It is my castle,” I said as I lowered myself to look into his eyes. “And everything within it is mine as well. You are lucky, William. You are lucky that I will do as you ask.” 

I pulled my thumb away, tilting his head back still. His throat was bared to me, even when I took away my hand, releasing him from my grasp. I watched him, his lips, moving, whispering, “Honestly,” as I pulled him into an embrace. 

He tasted deliciously of the spring months, of fresh oranges, of spiced wine and a hint of salt, yet there was a frozen nature to his mouth. That was it, then--he was not spring, nor was he winter, but the moment in between death and life. The moment when the snow was melting around the fresh, green flower buds. 

He was everything, and anything, that I ever wanted, ever needed. 

I did not wish for the kiss to end. 

As always, all good things had to come to an end. His heart was beating too quickly in his chest. My own heart thrummed, almost in time with his. When he pulled back, he looked drunk. Alive; there was color upon his face, just along the height of his cheekbones and up into the tips of his ears. 

“Kiss me again, Beast,” he said without emotion, “and you will find your heart on a pike.” 

Then he was gone, out into the hallway, leaving me alone with his taste upon my lips. I squeezed my eyes shut against the darkness as it filled my nest again. Away from his light, his warmth, I found myself withering. 


	17. The Knight--Light, Refracted

He kissed me. 

That blasted demon, that wretched Beast--he dared to  _ lay his disgusting lips upon mine. _

I had to take a moment, to catch my breath. I slumped against the wall within my own chambers, where I had retreated after forcing myself away from Sebastian. Head in my hands, I shivered. Never before had I felt so wronged, so taken advantage of, so filthy, so--

\--alive. 

I hated to admit it. It pained me to bring myself so low, to think on that kiss, upon the sweet taste of him against me. The hush of his feathers, the cold caress of his pale skin, the tender feeling of his lips pressing against my own mouth...He tasted of all things forbidden and perfect, of pomegranates, of wine, of lust and long nights, of warmth and hate and Hell--

Squeezing my eyes shut, I pressed my hand over my mouth. I wanted to scream. I wanted to scream, and shout, and tear at him until there was nothing more than blood, blood, blood--

He had brought me this low. 

Yet, I felt it in my heart. I knew. Should he drag me with him, down into the pits of Hell itself, I would gladly follow. Should he ask, and only ask, I would fall with him, hand in hand. 

Was this what love felt like? This unending, spinning, decadent descent into madness? 

I looked to my hands, watching my own aura spring up through my skin, laying on me like a haze. The white of myself had never looked so bright, so clear, so perfect. Like virgin snow, like the clouds in the sky, like the light of an untouched star in the heavens. 

Air. I needed air. I needed the harsh, snapping chill of winter against my face. I needed to think, and breathe, and walk. I felt trapped, locked in, the walls pressing in upon me. Gasping, I threw myself to my feet and out of the room. 

Everything around me then was a blur. Auras, colors, the walls, the stairs--everything merged into one until I found myself in the blessed cold of the outside air, knee-deep in freshly fallen snow. How far had I run? 

This part of the cursed woods was unfamiliar to me. As I leaned against a large, black tree, I had to catch my breath. Weakness overtook me, filling me up. My fever had returned, if it had ever, indeed, gone away. 

“Breathe, damn you,” I hissed to myself. My voice trembled, wavered. I was sinking, down, toward the earth, as the snow melted around me. A hum filled my head, breaking into my mind, my thoughts. What--

My aura, my own pale aura, slipped out from my hands to the dead tree beside me. It drank me up, pulling me into it, forcing spring into the eternal winter. I could not stop it, I could not control it. The tree, any plant around me, anything that had once been slumbering in a winter’s death, sprang to life. 

I fell. I fell to my knees, hands in the melting snow, in the moment between life and death, winter and spring, and screamed. 

Light. So much light, like the sun. It poured out of me in a wave, washing over the land. Over the curse. It broke the winter, the cold, the death. Shattered every sound, every second, every piece of any shackle that damned Phantomhive Witch had placed upon the land. It came from me, from within, from a place so deep that the mention of it hurt. 

Darkness, then, taking me into its embrace. Sweet, unending darkness. Swallowing me, time and time again, until all of the pain of my magic breaking was swept away. I slept, then, curled upon myself, a daydream of a Knight that had once thought he could control every emotion he had ever felt. 

Somewhere, outside of my head, outside of the sleep I was trapped within, I heard the tapping of a cane approach me. 


	18. The Beast--The Fall

Days passed, slowly, painfully. 

William was gone.

I could not find him, nor could I feel him. No where did he sit, within my lands, within the curse that consumed me. Even Grelle did not know where her half brother had disappeared to, though the casual lack of concern in her words worried me even further. That lovely red Beauty was just as twisted as I, now, her emotions having changed her into something more dangerous than I could have predicted. 

Glistening scales covered her, leaving little of her once porcelain skin. Fire. She was fire, and magma, and all things burning. 

I left her alone, in her chambers, with her collected hoard and the anger that had grown around her like a cage. 

Nearly a week had slipped through my fingers by the time I realized that the snow, the eternal winter, was gone from the cursed woods. Instead, there was greenery; fresh blossoms and pure little buds. Leaves. Leaves! There were leaves, popping out of tree branches. Flowers. 

It meant nothing to me, then, knowing that William was not with me to see them. 

Without him, without his light, I was dying. 

I loved him. So sudden, so pure. A storm of emotion, of wind and fire and light. He had broken my night, my darkness. I loved him so much that it hurt to know that my kiss had driven him from me. 

I could not stand it any longer. 

“What do you want?” Grelle greeted me, her voice more of a hiss than anything else, after I had knocked upon her door. I could see only one of her eyes through the crack she allowed, the green almost swallowed up by burning gold. 

“We need to find your brother.” I tried to push the door open, to force myself into her chambers. This was still my castle, after all. She had no purchase here. She had no right to turn this room into her den. 

Only she had.

Stronger than I remembered her to be, she pushed back. The door nearly slammed shut on my hand. If it had, I knew she would have broken every bone in every one of my fingers. “Grelle--” 

“Leave me be, would you? Go. Go on, and fall in love with him, hm? He’s too thick headed to understand, anyway, and I am thinking you are much the same. People like you have everything laid out for them. You have every chance to do whatever you wish with your life. Do you want a family? I’m sure there are women who would give up their young for you.” There was such venom in her voice that I no longer recognized it as hers. No. She was...wrong. Darker than I, deeper, smoke and fire and pain. 

Then I realized that, yes, there really was smoke pouring out from the crack. 

“Grelle--” I started, trying to get through to her. 

She growled at me, animalistic. I could still see the glint of her green-gold eye, the pupil nothing more than a thin line. A slit. But it was larger, I realized, than it should have been. 

“He loves you, I’m sure. He loves you and ran from you. I know him--I know my brother, that bastard, that glorious, perfect asshole.”

“Why would he run, if that were true? Surely he hates me--”

“Shut. Up. Sebastian.” She roared, and I finally let the door go. It slammed shut, though smoke still billowed out from around it. I could feel her, there, just beyond the door. A wash of sadness finally flooded forward. Tears. She was sobbing, softly. “You know nothing. You’re a foolish--you’re...I can’t. I can’t! This hurts far too much.” 

“Talk to me, Grelle.” 

“I thought...I thought I could love you. I thought, maybe,  _ you _ could love  _ me _ .” 

Blinking like the fool she knew me to be, I sank down to the floor. I felt like she had slapped me. It took a moment for me to find my tongue. “You are a Beauty, Grelle. I thought of you as a rose from the moment you entered this castle. Beautiful, but there is a violent grace to you--your thorns. I...apologize, if I ever made you think that I felt something beyond awe toward you.” I swallowed. “My heart has long been soaked in darkness. I could not see you as anything other than another person that I accidentally collected. As someone that, by existing, I cursed.” 

She drew a shuddering breath. Something moved, behind the door, as though a large creature was settling in. I realized with a pain in my heart that it was her. 

“He shared tea with you, every morning,” she said quietly. “He learned how you liked your tea, just so he could instruct your servants on how to brew it. He learned what kind of meat was your favorite, and tried to teach Bard how to cook it, just so. All of this time, he has spent his days trying to make you more comfortable. Haven’t you noticed?” 

“Of course I have--just as I have tried to make him comfortable, here.” 

“...right. Right.” Grelle sighed, quickly, quietly, beyond the door. 

“Will you help me find him?” 

“...it...isn’t proper for a lady to look like this.” 

I smiled, just slightly. “Is it appropriate for a gentleman to look such as I?” 

“I suppose not,” she grumbled. “Even if you are a dish.” 

That drew laughter out of me, a crow’s call, a cackle. Once I had found my breath, my tongue, I opened her door. Smoke spilled out, pouring and pooling into the hallway. When it cleared, I watched her, stepping forward. Trapped. All fours, her body long and slender, serpentine, horns sharp and raking backward. Crimson scales covered every inch of her, though slightly darker ones covered her chest and stomach. 

A dragon, slender, vicious, beautiful. My breath caught, again, in my throat as she squeezed through the doorway of her room. She had to tuck her wings in against her back--and what wings they were! They put my own to shame as they glistened in scarlet, their soft feathers longer and sharper than mine. 

All the while, she looked away from me. Ashamed, hating herself. Even as she was now, she could not see the beautiful monster she was. 

I put my hand upon her cheek, stroking her scales. “Lady Grelle,” I said, softly, drawing her eyes to meet mine. “You are not a Beauty. You are a Goddess.” 

Despite herself, she grinned, all sharp teeth and plumes of smoke. “Let’s go find that idiot brother of mine, hm?” 

“Oh, yes. Let’s.” 

For a gentleman, Beast or no, to admit that he was painfully envious of a Beauty who was cursed--it was not a good look on me. Still, the wind whipped through my feathers, against my skin, as she flew over the cursed woods below. It had come to her with grace, just as it seemed everything did, and with an ease that made me want to sigh. Every beat of her massive wings was like a heart, pounding in my ears. 

We swept over the lands, watching. I scanned the earth, the trees, the rocks and ruins, hills and mountains. The snow was truly gone, leaving early spring. Fresh blossoms, beautiful, pure. 

Yet, no William.

Until, suddenly, there was a flash of magic. 

“The cliffs,” I said, forcing Grelle’s attention toward the very edge of my land. There, standing like the spine of a great monster, rose up from the ground three white cliffs. They were jagged, terrible things, pointed and broken and nasty. I tried my best to stay away from them, for more than one reason. 

From them, I had fallen, once, in an attempt to take my own life. In an attempt to end the curse. It had not worked, not at all--and the entire time I fell, the entire time I lay, unable to move, I heard the Phantomhive Witch’s laughter in my head. 

Grelle banked, turning sharply to fly to those dreaded cliffs. As we drew closer, I saw a splash of purple and blue, as well as a touch of black. Ciel looked up at us, a smirk on his face. Beside him, kneeling, was William. 

Anger ripped through me. I screamed, teeth bared. The moment Grelle was close enough, I jumped. I leapt from her back, propelling myself forward. With all of my might, all of my force, I pushed darkness to carry me to the cliff, to William’s side. 

“Careful, now,” Ciel said easily. He watched me stand. He watched, eyes cold, lips parted just enough to laugh at me. In his hand, instead of his normal cane, he held a long, silver dagger--

\--the blade of which was pressed against William’s throat. 

“I might slip,” the witch chuckled. “Do not make a move, Sebastian. It is time that we ended this little game. It is time to admit that I have won, and you have lost.” He looked over the side of the cliff for a moment. “Your castle will fall. I have created an army of monsters, just for you. An army that will rip apart each of your servants, one by one. An army that will make its way here, while you watch, and destroy your lands. Destroy everything you ever loved, or wanted. Should you attempt to stop them...well.” 

He moved, just a flick, the silver dagger’s tip dipping into the soft flesh of William’s neck. A bead of perfect, shimmering crimson bloomed against his pale skin. 

“Let him go,” I snarled. Then, quieter, defeated, “please, Ciel. Let him go.” 

“He is the last leash I have upon you, Sebastian. I am not going to let him go that easily.” He grinned, leaning in. He grabbed William’s hair, pulling his head back, exposing his throat. William did not reply, or fight, or move. No. He looked dazed. 

I growled, lowly, gathering up my shadows. “What have you done to him, witch?” 

Ciel lowered his hand, moving away from William. The dagger remained, floating. The witch, even though he was not holding it, had every ounce of control he needed. “I did nothing to him, Sebastian. Couldn’t you feel it? He is like me. He always has been. A witch, and a strong one at that.” He cast one glance back, eyes wide and full of shattered light. “He is between life and death, between spring and winter. Time holds nothing for him; had he awoken prior to me finding him, he might have been able to be immortal.” 

A thought passed through my head, for a moment, just a moment.  _ Where is Grelle? _ I looked away, for a moment, just a moment, to look for her red silhouette against the blue of the sky. Nothing. She was gone. 

“Don’t worry about your pretty little dragon,” Ciel said with a chuckle. “I sent her away. She is free--just as I promised William.” 

“What?” I breathed, looking back to Ciel sharply. “What are you talking about?” 

“Oh,” Ciel laughed. “I made him promise. I made him promise to make you fall in love with him, to give you false hope, so that the wretched sister of his could be free. Well. Now she is free. I never promised him I would make her human again.” 

Ice fell over my heart, plunging me into darkness again. Once more. I wanted to tear at him, to scream. “You are lying.” 

“I do not lie, Sebastian. Not anymore. It was close, of course, so close. He almost broke the curse himself, without realizing it. Do you realize that he was, indeed, starting to love you?” He spread his arms, motioning to the world below us, below the white hate of the cliffs. “He brought you spring, Sebastian. He almost brought you freedom.” 

“He--”

Ciel grinned as purple light flooded from him. Blue, purple, black, black, black--forever, eternally, black. In the distance, I could hear something horrible crack and creak. My eyes were drawn to the west, to the hill upon which my castle lay. It was falling. Shattering. The dirty marble, the ivy, the moss--all of it was burning, and falling. Dying. 

“What a future you could have had with him. A Knight and his Prince. A fairytale ending, isn’t it?” Ciel smiled at me, taking the dagger into his hand again. He drew it back, and plunged the tip of it, the length of it, the entire blade into William’s back, through his heart, and out of his chest on the other side. 

I screamed. I screamed, and screamed, and screamed, my voice less human and more raven-like as I fell to my knees. William’s blood gushed out of his chest, down his front, out of his mouth as his lips parted. Still dazed, still lost. Lost, forever now; Ciel pitched him forward and off of the edge of the cliff.

“There are no happy endings,” the witch hissed.

I rushed forward, grabbing for William, hoping to grab him, hold him, bring him back, but he fell. He plunged, downward. 

Down, down, down. Forever down. 

And after him, I jumped. 


	19. The Beauty--Something About a Prince

There was a snap of blinding light. I tried to fall from it, away from it, but it slapped into my face like a bolt of lightning. It stunned me, brought me low. I slammed into the ground, the entirety of my new weight crushing down into the earth. Something pierced me, split my chest, dug into me like a jagged knife. 

I screamed, but it was a roar of fire, a burst of flame from my mouth. Pain pushed into me, red, red, red. Blinding me, I snapped and twisted, trying to move. I couldn’t. I was pinned, a part of a tree rooted through my side and up through my back. 

“Is...is that a dragon?!” a voice shouted, somewhere nearby. I knew that voice. Somehow, in a past life, I had known that voice. My vision was fading as two shapes popped up before me, one jumping off of a horse while the other remained upon the mount. The shape moved into my line of sight. I blinked, feeling hot blood gush from my mouth. 

I knew that face, those eyes, that stupid hair. A chuckle, harsh and broken, fell from my throat. Ronald. Ronald was there, that foolish idiot, just in front of me, so close. So close. 

“It fell out of the sky. That isn’t something a dragon is supposed to do.” Oh, I knew that voice, too. Othello, speaking around some piece of candy or another. I could smell the odd sweetness as he approached, too. “This isn’t the Beast, though, is it?” 

I felt a hand upon me, upon my scales. He was warm. I swallowed, trying to speak, to spit words. All that I could manage was a groan and a mouthful of blood. That damned tree must have split one of my lungs. Finally, after struggling, I managed to wheeze out a soft, breathy, “Hello.” 

The two flinched back, Ronald more so than Othello. The faux blonde stared at me, his eyes huge on his face. “Grelle?” he breathed, then, louder--”Holy shit, it’s Grelle!” 

“So it is,” Othello said. I felt him next to me, too. His hands quickly started to access me, pressing tenderly into my injuries. “She has a tree through her.” 

“I can see that! You’re a medic--do something!” 

“This is beyond my medical abilities, Ron. I’m sorry.” I heard Othello click his tongue. “Y’know, you never did tell her the truth about you.” 

“What does that have to do with anything?!” Ronald snapped. Even with my vision faded, I thought he was going to slap the other man. “Make since, you stupid little gremlin!” 

“Gremlin? Oh, no, not me. If you’re going to call me anything, I think a troll is more appropriate...but think about it, Ronald. Think hard. I know that can be hard for you.” Othello chuckled, lowly. “Think of those fairytales you probably heard when you were just a wee little one, tucked up to your nurse’s skirts.”

“I don’t follow.” 

“Well. She’s a cursed Beauty, isn’t she? Who usually saves the Princess, Ronald?”

“...th--the Prince.” 

“Very good.” Othello pressed his hand against a very painful spot, and I kicked out in response without much control. My tail thrashed. “And what are you?” 

“...a Prince,” Ronald relented. I found his warm hand along my brow, just below my horns. 

I was so confused, so lost. How was stupid Ronald a prince? Of all people, he--oh. It hit me, hard, then. Othello always followed him around. I thought they were friends, maybe lovers. No. Othello was his retainer, keeping him safe. My eye rolled upward, taking in Ronald’s face as he looked down at me through the haze. His stupid hair, blonde on top--he bleached it to hide who he was. 

When I stabbed him with that fork, all of those years ago, I had gotten into more trouble than I normally would have. More than I should have. 

I stabbed a Prince. 

I had stabbed a Prince. 

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to pull him to me, and laugh, and hold him, and Othello, too, because those two, stupid men were so much more than I had ever thought them to be. More than I could have wanted for them, more than I expected. 

Ronald leaned in. “This had better work,” he said, then kissed me, gently, as my world went black. 


	20. The Maid-- Target Practice

Some kind of monsters were attacking the castle. 

That wasn’t proper, no it wasn’t. 

They came up far too quickly for us to react as well as we should have. I had just enough time to find my crossbows and a quiver of bolts before the creatures started to tear the castle down, stone by stone. Bard rushed by me while I filled my holsters in the armory; he glanced at me with a firm nod. 

This was it. This was what the three of us had prepared for, should it ever come down to it. 

The thing about curses was that, even if someone was able to break it as it was stated, there were always little loopholes. The Phantomhive Witch had built up this curse, yes he had, to make it impossible for anyone without their own magic to fall in love with Mister Sebastian, truly. And the thing about love was that there were many different kinds of it. Brotherly, parental, friendly, romanic, and so many more. 

And the thing about us was that we all loved Mister Sebastian, yes we did, in our own little ways. We had made a promise, to each other, long ago, that we would go down with this ship. That was to say--we would protect him as best we could, until our dying breaths, if the need arose.

Well, it certainly was rising!

I found my way to the roof of one of the main towers. I threw off my glasses, pitching them to the world below. Creatures that seemed to be made of light and armor crushed them underfoot. No matter. I no longer needed them. Instead, I readied one of the light crossbows, using the torch nearby to light it. 

I took aim. Clenched the trigger. Fired.

The creature below burst into flame, screaming out like some kind of wild animal. I ignored that, too. There were scores more, and I had to fell them as quickly as possible. Another bolt--fire. Another bolt--fire. Again, again, again, a grin splitting my face. It had been a long time, yes it had, since I had been able to hunt like this. 

Below me, I heard more screaming. Huge pots of hot oil gushed out from the windows, pouring down upon the monsters that were attempting to scale the sides of the castle. Bard was working hard, yes he was. More screams, to the east, then the harsh screech of stone on stone. This was followed by a loud, drumming thud, and more screams. I knew that was Finny, throwing whatever boulder or stone he could onto those that dared try to enter through the front of the castle. 

I felt something around my ankle, slithering up to my ear. “‘They are falling quickly, but more are on the way,’ says Oscar.” The snake looked at me, eyeing me with worry. “What are we to do?” 

“None of the guests or Mister Sebastian are still here,” I uttered, pulling another bolt from my quiver. “Keep the castle as safe for them as we can. That’s all we can do, yes it is.” 

The snake nodded, just enough for me to see the movement, before darting off to bring my message to the others. 

Within an hour, the army below was gaining ground. One of the towers fell to them, ripped apart by their spectral hands. I was running out of bolts, out of stamina. They kept coming, arm over arm, body after body, crushing those that had already fallen beneath them. 

A raven’s cry shattered the air, echoing from the pale cliffs in the distance. 

I stopped firing, just long enough to watch a speck of black fall out of the sky, stark against the harsh white rock. My knees gave out, and I gasped. 

Mister Sebastian had fallen. 

Tears sprung to my eyes, unwanted. I brushed them away, quickly. Then I called out, screaming into the night’s air, “Fall back!” 

“Fall back!” came the reply; Bard’s voice, harsh against the thunderous crunch of the army below. I sprang from my spot, taking to the air like the owl I was, running from the doomed castle. Without a master to hold, it was just a building, just a tumble of rocks and ruin. No longer would it hold a family, no it wouldn’t. 

It wouldn’t hold anything, anymore. 

I guess that’s what love did, though. It made a bunch of rocks a home. It made the burnt dinner taste a bit sweeter, the terrible tea a little nicer, the withering gardens a little brighter. It turned a huntress into a maid, and turned a cursed, Lost Prince into someone worth dying for. 

Yes, it did. 


	21. The Beauty--I Need a Sword

Bloody Hell, did I hurt. 

I could smell a campfire, long before I opened my eyes. The wet Earth, the smell of blossoms, and a horse or two. Someone was sucking on a candy, or something just as sweet, otherwise. Oh, and the crimson, sharp tang of dried blood. 

Groaning, whimpering, I forced my eyes open. It was morning, the sun streaming down upon me cheerily. I felt heavy, weak. Like a kitten, newly born, with her ears and eyes still all closed up. Pushing through the haze, I made myself sit up--instantly wishing I hadn’t. My chest felt like it was crushed in upon itself, and oddly thick. I could feel bruises all over me, coating my arms, my legs, my stomach. 

But I was alive. 

“Grelle?” 

I looked up, squinting. Ronald. He moved closer to me. His armor was gone, replaced by more casual clothing. Comfortable, better for travel. The colors of the kingdom, I noted; well. He was a Prince, wasn’t he? He had every right to wear those colors, those shades of green and gold. I, however, did not, even though someone had put me in a loose fitting shirt and leggings.   


He sat down in front of me, gently taking my arms into his hands. He was looking me over, brushing his thumb over some of the black and blue bruises dotting my skin. No scales, I noted, but I was too numb to celebrate that. Finally, he looked me in the eyes, and smiled. “You know,” he said, leaning into me, “even as a dragon, you’re awfully pretty.” 

“Mm-hm, is that so,” I snapped. “You kissed me.” 

“I would, again. If you let me.” 

“Me too!” Othello’s voice chirped from somewhere behind Ronald. Too cheerful for my head at that point in time. I stuck my tongue out at him in disgust, which just made him chuckle like the little fox he was. 

I sighed, folding my arms over my chest. Wincing, I looked down, then blinked stupidly at myself. “O-oh,” I whispered. “Those are new.” 

“Mmhmm,” Ronald said, quickly looking away with a blush on his face. “I guess it’s true what they say about a kiss from a Prince?” 

“Well, Sir Magic Lips,” I sighed. “Help me up. I feel a bit dizzy still.” 

“You had a tree through you,” Othello offered as he sauntered over to us. “Your lungs were ruined. I don’t understand all of the ideas of magic, but it certainly made my life easier, when I had to patch up when his kiss didn’t fix.” 

Ronald sighed, helping me to stand. I leaned against him, the warmth of him, and squeezed my eyes shut. I should have been happy, elated, even. Everything I wanted was there, suddenly, before me. I was the woman I was supposed to be, the woman I had always been. I had not one, but two handsome idiots fawning over me, with one being a Prince no less. 

But William was not there.

No.

The last I could recall, he was being held captive by some little squirt that Sebastian seemed rather fearful of. The witch, I had to assume. The one that had started all of this, that had created this mess. 

As I pulled myself together, I looked up at Ronald. Then, to Othello, thinking. “Do the two of you fancy a quest? There’s a wicked witch that needs slaying, and I need some help. And a sword, if you have one.” 

Othello grinned at me. “Sure. Lead on, Grelle. Sounds like fun.” His eyes flashed, a thought behind that mischievous look. “I think a witch would be better to study than a Beast, anyway.” 

When I grinned back, I felt my teeth. Still sharp, still deadly. Maybe there was a bit more dragon left in me than I had originally thought. 

“Let’s go save William.” 


	22. The Knight--Awakening

Everything, every single piece of me, ached. I thought myself dead, but this was far worse. Worse than anything I could have ever imagined. 

Blood. So much blood. It stuck to me, clung to me, crushed me. I was soaked with it, both my own and Sebastian’s. 

Sebastian. 

My mind was fuzzy. I cried out, groaned. Shivered. There was laughter and the tapping of a cane, like the beating of a broken heart. No light. Never, again, would there be light. 

Of these things, I was certain. 

One--Ciel Phantomhive had killed me. 

Two--I had not died, not really. I had bled, and fallen, but I was still as alive as one such as myself could be. 

Three--Sebastian, that damned, beautiful Beast, had fallen in an attempt to save me. He had pulled me to him, and broken my own fall with his body. When we slammed into the ground, he had shattered, feathers and blood and flightless wings. 

Four--he was gone from me. 

I pulled myself to my knees, gasping out a mouthful of my own blood. I touched my chest, the hole healed, leaving fresh skin, like new growth on a tree. Beside me, a bundle of feathers, lay Sebastian. His face was relaxed, though covered in blood; his chest did not rise, or fall. When I touched him, when I shook him, screaming, there was no air in his lungs, no movement. He was so, painfully, cold. 

I squeezed my eyes shut, and, around me, everything fell into winter once more. A hush of night flooded the cursed forest, the lands that had once been Sebastian’s. 

Slowly, I pulled his corpse to me, and lay a kiss across his lips. I could have loved him. I was well on my way--

\--that was a lie.

No.

I already loved him, but I had been too thick to realize it. To believe it. To admit it. And now, he lay in my arms, paying for my folly, for my stupidity. He lay, nothing more than a bird with wings that would not work. I had killed him with my foolishness, with my inability to control my powers. 

“I love you,” I whispered. Hot tears poured from my eyes, dripping to his face, to his feathers. 

But he had no aura, no faded rainbow. Nothing. 

There was only his memory, like a knife, twisting into my stomach, into my heart. 

Ciel had told me that it sometimes took a sacrifice to awaken someone such as I. Someone with power, with magic, flooding them. 

Here it was, my sacrifice; the man that I loved, bloody and dead against my body. 

I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the winter press in on me, on us. I could feel all of the Earth alive, thrumming, humming, beneath me. The aura of life itself, pulsing in my head, behind my eyes. Pulling. Thrashing. 

With everything I had, I reached in, into Hell itself, into life and Heaven and whatever lay beyond. I pulled that damned rainbow from the clutches of Death, from myself, and forced it back into Sebastian’s form. 

All of my anger, all of my hate, my love, my everything. 

I pushed it into him, my own life, my own pale colors. 

My heart.

I gave him my heart. 

“Stop.” Ciel was there, suddenly, staring at me with wide eyes. He was terrified--a good look on his youthful face. “William, this was not the bargain--” 

“Damn your bargain,” I snapped, though the voice was not mine alone. Hundreds, thousands, millions of voices screamed through me, along with my own, filling the air as I felt my eyes glow with the light of Life and the darkness of Death. 

“Please--”

I stood, drawing Sebastian to his feet as the raven Beast began to breathe again. “You do not know with whom you are meddling, Phantomhive,” I hissed, and all of those voices, the voices of the dead and those yet born, echoed me. I cannot pretend to know what the witch saw when he looked upon me, upon what I had become. 

Sebastian swayed upon his feet, but managed to stand. His crimson eyes snapped open, watching me with awe, with fear. I moved away from him, to Ciel. My hand drew light into it, a spear of purity leaping up from the glow. 

Ciel fell to his knees, gasping, wiggling like a worm, trying to get away from me. He screamed, and thrashed--and in him, I saw all of his own pain, all of the hurtful things that had happened to him over the course of his surprisingly long life. The pain of having his own brother torn from him, only to have the other boy’s soul pressed into him. 

Of betrayal, of pain, of living much longer than he wished to. 

“You could have made different decisions,” I said, the voices of life and death with me. “Instead, you made your pain the pain of innocents. You placed a curse upon more than just the man you hated.”

“I...I’m sorry!” 

I let the light fall from my hand. Instead, I reached down, grabbing Ciel by the front of his shirt. I pulled him to me, glaring into his mismatched eyes. I felt the tendrils of light and darkness swirling around me, tasting the twin auras within him. 

“Are you?” I breathed, cold. Always, eternally, cold. 

“William.” Sebastian’s voice was a slap to my face; I dropped the boy-witch and turned to the Beast. 

Only he was no longer the Beast that I knew. He was a man, and just a man. Handsome, yes, with raven black hair and eyes so brown in their warmth that they looked red--almost. His feathers were gone, replaced with a well fitted black jacket and leather pants, tucked into boots. He was shaking, just a bit--afraid of me. 

_ Of me. _

I felt the light and dark leave me then. They were sucked out of me in a hush, pulled back and pushed away until I was only William again, and weakened at that. 

“Honestly,” I whispered as Sebastian caught me. 

“Honestly,” he echoed, smirking at me. 

I heard Ciel behind us, forcing himself to his feet. “You’ve done it, then. You’ve broken the curse.” His lips were pulled into a tight line. No smile, no frown. Just a neutral anger. He glared at us. “Your castle is still in ruins. Your cursed wood is no longer your own, Sebastian. You are a Prince with no kingdom. You are nothing, not at all--” 

“And you, my pet, talk far too much!” 

I looked up just in time to see a flash of red slam into Ciel’s back. Grelle--where on Earth had she come from?--pinned the boy-witch down as he hissed and spat. She had a sword, and forced it down into the ground just in front of his nose. 

“I take it you’ll not be moving, hm, love?” she oozed, laughing. “Little boys should play nice.” 

“Get off of me, you--you--”

“Y-E-S?” she purred, laughing. Then she looked over her shoulder. “Oi, Othello! Here’s your witch!” 

And, to my amazement, Ronald and Othello rode up to us on a horse the color of cotton. The shorter of the two jumped down, quickly, scrambling over to Grelle to help her put shackles made of thorny branches around the witch’s throat. 

“Phantomhive witch, huh,” Othello chuckled. “Every witch has a weakness--and his is roses.” 

“Get off of me!” Ciel screamed, but was trapped by the vines of a withered rose bush. He glared up at all of us, a hiss on his lips and his teeth bared. 

“Roses?” Ronald asked, following Othello as the medic dragged Ciel away. 

“Yeah, who would have thought?” 

Grelle sighed, watching them leave with something on her face--something thoughtful and warmth. Loving. 

Oh. Love.

Was she in love? With  _ them? _

__ Stranger things had happened, I suppose. 

“You’re human,” she said, rounding on Sebastian with a little surprised ‘o’ upon her lips. 

“As are you, fair Beauty,” Sebastian chuckled. He took her hand, gently, and pressed his thumb against her wrist. He smiled, carefully at her. “And whole, I see.” 

She shrugged, giggling, then took my hand with her free one. She, tenderly, placed Sebastian’s palm over the top of my fingers, watching me, watching. “Well,” she said haughtily as she let go of both of us. “Are you going to kiss, or what? Come on, it is rude to leave a lady to wait!” 

I turned to Sebastian. “A witch has a weakness,” I mumbled. Finally, I pulled him to me, kissing that damnable mouth. “Honestly. I suppose that makes you, mine.” 

“I like the sound of that,” Sebastian whispered, and kissed me again. 


	23. The Finale

William sighed, walking back and forth. His hands were shaking, just so. “You are going to wear a hole in the rug,” Grelle commented, her green eyes watching him before returning to paint the bassinet beside her. 

“I have not been this nervous since I found out you were pregnant,” her brother grumbled, worrying his thumb over the bridge of his nose. 

“I was fine then, and you will be fine now,” Grelle replied. She smiled at him. “He isn’t going to say no.” 

“I do not know if that’s what I am worried about.” 

“Then what?” 

“...I...I don’t know.” William looked at her, his cold, green eyes more full of emotion then than she had ever seen them. She stood up, walking to him, and pressed her palm against his cheek.

“You love him,” she said, and waited. 

“I do.” 

“Then it will be fine! Love is beautiful, William. It’s about time you finally settled down, anyway.” She pouted, drawing out a sigh dramatically. “It’s been four years since you broke his curse. Don’t you think you’ve waited long enough?” 

William pressed his lips together. “Not everyone rushes into these things, Grelle.”

“Oh, not this again!” 

“You were literally three days back in the kingdom when Othello and Ronald burst down my door to ask for your hand--”

“--and you gave me to them--”

“And now look at you!” William huffed, hugging his sister to him, careful of her stomach. He kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of roses. “You’re going to be Queen, and you’re with child. Royal child, might I add.” 

“You are saying that like it’s a bad thing.” Grelle huffed. She pushed William away from her for a moment, hands on her hips. “I wanted this, William. I have wanted this since I was a child.” Again, she touched the side of his face, looking up into his eyes. A thin rim of gold danced around the green of her irises. Some things scarred, forever, and sometimes, the Beauty was a dragon underneath it all. “Now, it’s your turn, Will. It’s your turn to be happy.” 

Relenting, the Knight sighed, squeezing his sister’s hand. “With your blessing, then.” He managed a slight smile when she smacked his shoulder, playfully. “Get some rest. I don’t care how well you feel; I know damned well that this took more time and effort than you are letting on. If it had been easy, you would have been pregnant the day we came home.” 

She shrugged. “Some things take time. I think I learned that. Now. G-O, Will! He isn’t going to wait for you forever!” With that, she shooed him out of her chambers, ignoring the hypocrisy of her words. 

William swallowed before making his way through the castle. He nodded, slightly, at Mey-Rin as she passed him, moving up to Grelle’s rooms herself with a slight smile on her face. No longer owlish, he had to admit, she was a cute woman. “Take care of her,” he mumbled. 

“I will!” she sing-songed, happily, and quickly hid the bag of gold she had found for the soon-to-be Queen’s hoard.

Sebastian was sitting on a familiar hill, watching quietly as the world passed him by. This Kingdom was not his own, but he was growing to like it. He was no Prince, and certainly, no longer a Beast, but he found that he was rather good at certain things. Fighting, for example, which had made him a candidate for Knighthood. However, with William leaving the ranks for a simpler life within the city below, Sebastian found that he just wanted to be with the man that he loved. 

They opened a rescue, of all things, for abandoned and abused animals. Beasts of all kinds--though Sebastian had soon found a love for the cats of the kingdom. William still brought birds home, many of them with broken wings that he mended with the aid of his magic. Together, they raised horses for the royals, and dogs, and cats, and anything else they could nurture and love. 

Money would never be an issue, considering that Grelle had gone and gotten herself married to the soon-to-be-King and his retainer--something that had been the talk of the kingdom for months after the ceremony. 

Let the tongues wag. 

They were happy. That was all that mattered. 

He closed his eyes. A few moments later, with the warm sun on his face, he felt a different warmth flood him. Glancing up, he watched as William walked to meet him. They sat together, on that little hill, for a time, just watching the world go by.

“Marry me,” William said, suddenly, without any pomp or circumstance. 

Sebastian chuckled, biting back a smile. “I thought you would never ask.” 


End file.
